by Poppy
Now he was working on his letter box at the desk. He was debating with himself as he wrote and muttering answers to his own arguments. This new president, this Mariano Arista, the first ever installed constitutionally, was a good man. But could he last? A rumor of trouble, something about his having cut down on the army and the generals resenting it, had started Dex on this hurried trip. He wrote his letters and debated the other possibilities if Arista fell. Santa Anna was always there but at this time discredited. Later, perhaps. Alaman was a conservative, but there were stories he considered Santa Anna the only man strong enough to hold the country together. And the people in the cafes talked of the fine old days, the good days when there had been a viceroy from Spain. Whenever he muttered, "Viceroy," Dex shook his head, scowled, and sighed.
To make a companionable sound, to stop the scowling and sighing, Poppy asked, "Is there any real difference between these Mexicans? Don't they come and go, leaving the country much the same?"
"They have their little differences," Dex said drily. "For instance, Santa Anna sells tens of thousands of acres for millions of dollars and then throws the millions away like confetti."
"We bought them honestly, didn't we?"
"The United States did. Are you a Yankee now?"
She did not want to think about that. "Why is Mexico so important to you?"
"Mexico is a rich country, and our bank has its customers and interests, naturally. Mexico will be a great country someday. We want to be numbered among its friends when that day comes."
"So you must watch and walk carefully?"
"And if we can, avert trouble."
"Do you think you can stop a change in government?"
"Not this time or probably many times." Dex shook his head. "We can be discreet, wait it out, assist where it seems wise. As long as the leaders are Mexican."
Poppy remembered the mutters. "Does Spain want to send a viceroy again?"
"Not Spain. Didn't I tell you once the royal houses of Europe have too many sons trained for thrones and too few thrones?"
"Yes. In Paris."
"They're prowling Mexico like hungry wolves. A rich country, abandoned by Spain, without a stable government as yet, So sooner or later, sooner or later. And it will be a disaster, bloodshed and bankruptcy, for everybody concerned."
Poppy caught her breath. "What can you do?"
Dex reached out and touched her hand. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I assure you it's not the English royal family or the French, and we can be grateful for that. Though the present French government is, shall we say, aware."
Remembering Dex's allusions to spies and the way he had hurried her out of Paris, Poppy nodded. She did not understand, but she caught a glimpse of the tangled webs of international intrigue and finance with which Dex dealt.
"When royal houses need money, they turn to the private bankers,"
Dex went on explaining.
"I know that."
"We finance their royal fights, flights, and fancies. Different banking houses for different royal houses. So our views and interests don't always agree."
Here in Mexico, did his and the Pannet interests run together or oppose? No, she would not make that excuse for him, that he danced attendance on Felicite only as a matter of business. He was besotted with her blond dullness. But he was here on the Golden Dolphin now, and all night his arms held her. She would not think beyond that.
"So it's more of the same, keeping a watchful eye out for the legits as well as the illegits." Poppy smiled.
"Right." Dex shut his box of papers. "I can't do anything more until we touch at a Mexican port and get the news. The Captain predicts a record run if the weather holds."
"Mexico City," Poppy sighed with anticipation.
Once her dreams had not reached beyond a single night in his arms. Then even that dream had died. Now everything seemed to conspire to heap happiness on her.
For Dex had promised to take her to Mexico City with him, and the stay might last for weeks. He warned her the roads were poor, but with a well-sprung carriage and four sturdy horses, the trip was possible. Even if he had to ride ahead, she could follow. The distances were great, but
she would see strange and wonderful things each day, massive ruins in the jungles left from the days before the Spanish came, small sweet valley towns with great cathedrals where she would stay at rustic adobe posadas and be quite safe. In a great valley like a cup, ringed round by magnificent mountains, was Mexico City. There she would see wealth flaunted as she had never dreamed. The palatial homes, the women's clothes, the jewels, the carriage promenades, and the balls were beyond description. He would buy her a fine wardrobe, see she had a smart little carriage, and they would live in the suite the bank maintained there. Even Paris could not compare with Mexico City, for life in Paris was set and circumscribed, hedged in by old rules and customs. Mexico City, for all its aristocratic, hidalgo tradition, was still young and colorful and raw in its wealth.
Mexico City, Poppy thought, would be like Paris and San Francisco, the best of both put together, and better than either. There with Dex, she felt, her destiny waited, glittering, alive, and incredibly rich.
"Tell me more about it," Poppy begged.
"An experience as highly spiced as its food," Dex warned.
"I've never met anything beyond my digesting," Poppy said demurely. "I'm counting the days and hours."
"We do not dine for two hours," Dex hinted.
Poppy widened her eyes innocently. "You had no tea?"
"You and Mexico City will understand each other," Dex said, shaking his head. "You are both shameless hussies, always thinking of a bribe."
"That is it?" Poppy demanded, not even trying to pretend. She looked at the cloth-wrapped package Dex had carried into the cabin before lunch. "A length of silk from the Captain's Chinese goods?"
"A length of silk? A bagatelle worth a few pieces of gold. This, I had to ransom. I thought he might ask a share of the ship."
He unwrapped the cloth and held up the dark blue silk robe. Poppy caught her breath as the sunlight from the window flashed on the magnificent embroidery in gold and peacock-bright silks. The pattern of rich reds, greens, and blues seemed to move and blend and bum together as if it were alive, with the gold glittering around and through the colors like licking flames.
"A mandarin's robe," Dex said with a little bow. "Almost as beautiful as the lady."
"Let me try it," Poppy gasped.
As she had known, as they had both known, the robe was forgotten once her clothes were put aside. Dex lifted her, swung her over on the bed, and gathered her into his arms, pressing her back against the pillows. In the old and yet always new magic that never failed to inflame her senses, his hands, lips, and body were molding her to his mastery. She put her arms around him, glorying in the strength of his hands on her flesh, of his strong body against her softness, his warmth heating her as she drew him closer and ever closer, eyes closing as his lips brushed her breast.
Suddenly the ship lurched, rolling heavily to one side with a force that tore Dex from her arms and flung him across the room, sprawled on the floor. The ship hung there while the two chairs, the screen, the china from the washtable, and the letter box edged free and rolled slowly across the cabin. Then all the books loosened at once and rained down. Poppy clung to the bed, staring at the slow progress of all the things as they slid neatly down toward the far comer, at the impossible angle of the floor that had hoisted her high above Dex, who was scrambling now in the angle between deck and door to try to get to his feet. Then with a long, groaning creak, the ship settled slowly back on an even keel.
"But the sun's shining," Poppy whispered.
"That felt like a big wave," Dex panted, scrambling to his feet. "From an earthquake somewhere."
Then once again the ship tilted, and he was flung back with only time to wrap his arms around his head before he hit the door with a cracking thud. Shocked, Poppy loosed her hold on the bed and felt
herself pulled down and rolled across the cabin, until she slid against Dex's shoulder and he caught and held her. Again the ship hung as if it would never right itself, hung in timeless suspense, until with an even deeper groan, it settled back once more.
"Two big ones so close, that means if it was a quake even under seas, it was a disaster somewhere," Dex said grimly. "Let's hope that's all. Even 'this ship can't take many more like that."
The ship was quiet with only the thud of feet and the sound of quiet, urgent voices from the deck. Poppy stumbled to her feet, dazedly righted the chair, and fumbled for the beautiful robe. Big waves, Dex had said. She could not believe anything could be so violent and yet so slow. But she had felt it, had seen what it could do. Then she realized something else impossible. The living, burning colors of the robe in her hand were dull and gray, not sparkling in the sun. Where was the sunlight?
Then she heard a new sound, as incredible as all the rest. There was a roar, which grew louder, until it was a deafening torrent of sounds. It was all around them. They were in the sound, and the ship hung there motionless for a few seconds before it corkscrewed violently from side to side, bow dipping and then rising high. Poppy was flung back against the built-in desk, and she clung to it. A great quiver went through the ship and then, as the ship reared then fell again convulsively, something thudded on the deck with a sound like thunder. The ship shivered from end to end and bounded wildly like a whipped horse.
"Hurricane?" Poppy whispered.
"Yes," Dex said, somehow already half dressed and pulling on his shoes. "That was the mainmast. They'll need help on deck. Get dressed, ready to abandon ship. I'll come back for you."
"No," Poppy cried, flinging herself on him and clutching him. "No, don't leave me. It's not true. It's not happening."
His hand slapped her sharply, first one cheek and then the other. "Stop screaming. It is happening. This is storm season, and the calm we've been enjoying was unnatural."
"This is unnatural."
''Call it unlucky, big waves and then a hurricane."
"Don't leave me."
"Our only chance is to cut that mast clear," Dex snapped. He freed her clinging hands and threw her on the bed. "I told you, get dressed and ready to abandon ship."
He fought the door open, and wind and water lashed inside like a living presence. When the door slammed behind him, the whistling roar of the wind and the deafening hiss of the rain, like whips cracking through the air, still filled her ears. Poppy clung to the bed, cringing. She must get dressed and ready to take a small boat, but with every crash of wind and water against the cabin window, she froze, unable to move. The seas were breaking right over the ship, and the ship was not rising to meet the waves but rolling sluggishly. The ship must be waterlogged, half sinking already. To take to a small boat in seas that were sinking a fine clipper? They would never get it launched.
Above the whistling and roaring, she could hear thuds, crashes, and shouts on deck. At least everybody had not been swept overboard. They would all go down together in the ship. She and Dex would die together. Since now she had nothing more to lose, she might as well do as he had ordered.
Staggering, clutching at the bed and the desk, thrown to her hands and knees more than once, she managed to get into her warm suit and put a padded Chinese jacket over that. She found her reticule with her jewels and put Dex's letter box close to her hand. She wished she could think of some noble sentiment for parting with Dex, but all she could feel was bitterness that she was being cheated of all the sweetness of life and love. She had barely tasted what they could be, and now there would be no more.
The door slammed open, and Dex braced himself and fought it shut again. "Towel," he said and began to tear off his jacket and shirt.
"Towel?"
"I'm soaked through. Any man can drown, but only a fool dies of pneumonia."
"Then we're not sinking?"
"Not in the next few hours, I trust. We cut the mast clear and only lost one man, swept overboard. There are a couple of cut heads and a broken arm, but they'll heal." Dex shed the last of his clothes, snatched a towel from the cabinet, and rubbed vigorously. "We've got a crack in our hull you could put your fist through, but our pumps are good. If we can ride out the night, we'll see in the morning what the damage is and where we are." He looked up and scowled. ''Take off those ridiculous clothes and find me a clean shirt; Cook says he can manage some kind of dinner in half an hour."
In the dining saloon, the other passengers' faces made Poppy less ashamed she had panicked. Even stalwart Miss Shillingforth downed a surprising amount of the brandy Dex ordered for the table. Then he went to every cabin to supervise the lacing of straps on each bed and was adamant they must be buckled tightly. The danger of being drowned in bed was small. The chance of being thrown out and seriously injured was real.
The ship was still pitching in the morning, thudding heavily, staggering through the heavy waves instead of mounting lightly over them. Poppy could hear nothing but the groans of the timbers, the wailing of the storm. and the steady thumping of the pumps. She could only glimpse ominous skies through the foaming crests of giant waves breaking over the rails.
On the second day. the storm abated its hurricane strength, but the rain poured down unceasingly. For Christmas, the cook produced fruitcakes put aboard by the Captain's wife, tarts made with her mincemeat, and roasted chickens. They made a small gala, with Poppy's gifts wrapped in thin red Chinese paper. Dex had two Chinese hairpins for her, enameled in blue. set with 'blue and green gems, and tasseled in gold.
Poppy knew vaguely they were far off course and some days they made almost no headway, barely holding their own against the wind and waves. The ship was sluggish, and a week passed before they even worked their way back into sight of shore. On New Year's Day. the Captain offered a prayer of thanks they were still afloat. More. Poppy knew, they now had a chance to make the shore in small boats if another storm widened that frightening gap in the hull.
Dex, even when he held her in his arms at night was grim-faced and silent. The voyage was taking a week for every day he had planned.
She was awakened one morning by the sharp heaving of the ship and found herself alone. Tumbling into her clothes, she ran up on deck and saw they were anchored off a small fishing village. She could see a silver shore with crude huts scattered back of it under tall, exotic trees. Dex was already in a small boat being rowed ashore.
When he returned he and the three men passengers went straight to the Captain's cabin. Within minutes. the Captain came out, gave an order and the sailors swarmed to the sails. With relief, Poppy saw they were still heading down the coast not turning back to the States.
Dex's expression was bleak when he came to the cabin. "The government's fallen. I learned that much."
"What does that mean for you?"
''The ship is heading down the coast to a port large enough that the Captain can get the timber to jury-rig a mast and plug the leak. The others believe they will be safe enough from there if they can hire good horses and ride together. Miss Shillingforth assures me she was brought up in hunting country."
"And you?"
"I ride ahead immediately. Alone. I must get reports. Quickly. And return to meet the ship and send them back. She'll be ready to sail by then."
"And me?"
"I can't take you on a ride like that."
"But you are coming back?"
"Certainly. I'll know then what the situation is. If you wish to leave the ship, I'll hire a room for you in town."
"I'll wait here. This cabin is comfortable."
After his passengers left at the next port, the Captain was busy. He had cargo to unload. He had to see to repairing the storm damage to the ship, sufficient to get it back up the coast to a proper shipyard He had his Chinese goods to sell, and cargo to load for the return.
A fresh-faced young sailor was assigned to row Poppy ashore and back again and to accompany her everywhere. She wandered around t
he town. She marveled at the shy women with their downcast eyes, Madonna-like faces framed in shawls, silent and elusive as deer on their bare feet. She liked the soft-walking men with their alert brown eyes and quick speech. The children seemed happy and loved, but they too ran from the strange foreign woman.
