Love Inspired Historical November 2014

by Danica Favorite

  The redhead was regarding him out of the corners of her eyes. “You needn’t worry yourself about Mrs. Howard and your brother. From what I’ve heard, he loved her true.”

  That didn’t surprise him. Who wouldn’t love Allegra? “Then why did she leave Boston?” he demanded. “She had everything a woman could need.”

  Maddie shrugged. “I suppose that depends on the woman, so it does. From the sound of it, she had a fine home, only it wasn’t truly her own. She had gowns and shawls, but someone else had the choosing of them. She helped the poor and attended events, but only when she was allowed. Sure’n it was a fine life.”

  Clay frowned. “You make her sound like a prisoner.”

  Maddie beamed at him. “And haven’t I always said what a clever man you are! Perhaps that’s why you ran away from Boston, too.”

  “I didn’t run.” He felt himself stiffening at the slur and forced himself to relax. “I told my father my concerns. He had a future planned for me that suited me not at all. Had I done what he wanted I would have been an abject failure. He wouldn’t bend, I couldn’t stay.”

  She peered up at him. “And that’s why you and Allegra rub against each other sometimes. You’re too much alike!”

  Clay opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. If his family’s dictates had driven Allegra out of Boston, she did have a lot in common with him. But Maddie was wrong when she said they were too much alike. Allegra was fixed on her future. He couldn’t forget his past.

  *

  What was he doing? Allie stood on her tiptoes on the main deck, but all she could see was the very top of Clay’s head, the salty breeze fingering his red-gold hair. With the noise from the engine, she couldn’t catch a word of what he and Maddie were discussing.

  “I wouldn’t worry,” Catherine said beside her. “Very likely he’s just putting in his next order for sweets.”

  “Of course,” Allie said, feeling foolish. And really, Clay could speak to whomever he liked. Maddie wasn’t the first one to cast a glance in his direction, and she wouldn’t be the last.

  Allie was merely glad he was willing to keep teaching. Every day his words opened up a new world, challenging her vision. When she’d first heard Mr. Mercer extol Seattle’s virtues, she’d been sure of God’s leading and her own ability to take care of her and Gillian with her sewing. Many a woman in Boston had supported herself or family that way. She’d met several who had sewed for her mother or the Howards over the years.

  Now she could only wonder. From what Clay said, there would be little call for fine sewing in Seattle, and nearly every woman aboard was skilled in that area. She’d seen the embroidery and tiny stitches they put onto their clothes as they whiled away the time on deck most afternoons. They wouldn’t need to pay for such services.

  So what else could Allie do? She supposed she could teach, but several women already had experience and stellar references in that area, and by all accounts there were few children. She didn’t have the money to start her own store; she wasn’t suited to be a logger or fur trapper.

  There must be some job she could take to keep her from having to marry!

  She was still considering the matter when she brought Gillian to play the piano in the upper salon that afternoon. Clay and some of the other men had fixed it onto its legs at last, and now it was seldom silent as the ladies took turns entertaining. Gillian had learned the rudiments in Boston, and now Allie showed her how to play some simple songs.

  “That man is utterly contemptible,” Catherine declared, coming to stand beside the piano with a mutinous look in her eyes.

  Gillian regarded her with a frown, but Allie ran her fingers up the keys to distract her daughter. “And who has earned your wrath this time?” she asked her friend.

  “Mr. Mercer, who else?” Catherine sat on a chair near the piano. Though her color was high, her back did not so much as slump as she folded her hands properly in the lap of her gray gown. “A New York publisher donated an entire library of books for our enjoyment on this trip, and Mr. Mercer has appropriated the best of them—Chaucer, Milton, Shakespeare, Everard. He says we will only damage them. He seems to think we do nothing but sit around and drool all day!”

  “And so we do,” Maddie said, coming to join them, as well. “Drool over the officers, that is, or so he fears. His lordship definitely prefers to see us gainfully employed. This morning he brought out a trunk of yarn and set a bunch of lasses to knitting. He says he’ll be holding a great fair in Seattle after we arrive and sell our makings to help pay our expenses.”

  Catherine’s eyes narrowed.

  “What’s to become of the donated books when we reach Seattle?” Allie asked Maddie, helping Gillian position her fingers properly on the keyboard.

  Maddie shrugged. “I haven’t heard, but I’m thinking Mr. Mercer will likely be selling them, too.”

  “Without allowing us the contentment of reading them?” She wasn’t sure why that thought so incensed her, but the insult of it pushed her off the bench. “Those books were donated for our use, and I intend to make use of them.”

  Catherine rose, as well. “Protest, dear sister. We are behind you.”

  As if to prove it, Maddie rolled up her sleeves.

  “Gillian, wait here,” Allie told her daughter. Then she turned and with her two friends started toward the other side of the room.

  The space was largely empty so early in the afternoon. Clay and Mr. Reynolds were playing checkers at a little table along one wall. The chair must have been a tight fit or too hard, because she’d noticed earlier that Clay kept shifting this way and that as if he couldn’t get comfortable. Now he glanced up, and his gaze met hers.

  A slow smile grew on his face, and she had to fight to keep from answering it. She was no flirt! But she couldn’t help noticing that he leaned back as if to watch her as she and her friends approached Mr. Mercer, who was standing by the whitewashed bookcase along the opposite wall.

  “Alphabetical order by author, if you please,” he was dictating to one of the younger women who was helping unpack the boxes. “I before E except after C.”

  “That is only for spelling, sir,” Catherine informed him as they came to a stop beside the pair. “Not for alphabetizing.”

  He smiled at her. “It was a test, dear lady, only a test. And of course you passed it perfectly. How fortunate I am to be among such ladies of refinement.”

  “But not of education, it would seem,” Allie told him. As Gillian began plunking out a tune, Allie bent and picked up one of the books the other woman was about to put on the shelf. “Are we fit for nothing but children’s readers?”

  Mercer took it from her hand as if he feared her mere touch would damage it. “You may borrow it later, if you like, Mrs. Howard. If you learn it by heart, you can read it to your daughter.”

  He thought she couldn’t read anything more than a primer? And she had hoped to leave tyranny behind in Boston! Words utterly failed her.

  As if he thought her in need of support, Clay rose and strolled closer. Oh, no, she needed no rescue in this case.

  She drew herself up and fixed her glare on Asa Mercer. “My daughter,” she informed him, “mastered this text three months ago. And I am more partial to Blake.”

  Clay’s voice was like a rumble of thunder. “‘A truth that’s told with bad intent beats all the lies you can invent,’” he quoted.

  Mercer turned red, but the line only steeled Allie’s spine. She held out her hand. “I understand you kept back a number of books, Mr. Mercer. I’d like to see them.”

  “Now, now,” Mercer said, smile so firmly in place it might have been chiseled from stone. “They are very fine editions, and I should not like to see them injured.”

  “And would you prefer to be seeing yourself injured?” Maddie asked sweetly.

  Mercer blinked.

  “I’d be careful if I were you, Ms. O’Rourke,” Mr. Reynolds warned as he joined Clay at their sides. “We’re crossing the equator t
onight, and ladies who misbehave have been known to receive a scold from Father Neptune.”

  Father Neptune? What was this? Allie knew her frown matched Mr. Mercer’s.

  Clay, however, stiffened. “That’s enough, Reynolds,” he said, voice low and forceful. “I doubt any man aboard this ship would countenance harm to a lady.”

  “Who precisely is this Father Neptune?” Catherine demanded.

  “It’s all in good fun,” Mr. Reynolds assured her. “An old naval tradition that welcomes those crossing the equator for the first time.”

  “I don’t call dousing people with seawater welcoming,” Clay countered.

  Maddie raised her reddish brows. “Would you be threatening me, Mr. Reynolds?”

  Reynolds held up his hands. “Never, ladies! My apologies! It was merely a joke.”

  Mercer assured him no offense had been taken, but Allie couldn’t help wondering if some mischief was planned.

  “I’ll expect to see the rest of those books on the shelves by tomorrow, sir,” she informed Mr. Mercer. Then she took Catherine’s arm and motioned Maddie with her free hand to return with them to the piano. She could feel Clay’s gaze on them, but she refused to meet it.

  “Father Neptune,” Maddie sneered as they gathered together beside Gillian. “He’d do better to fear Mother Maddie!”

  “No one should have anything to fear tonight,” Allie told both her friends. “And we’re going to make sure of it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Clay prowled the ship that evening, unable to settle. He’d heard from others who had come to Seattle by ship that sailing crews could sometimes be merciless to those crossing the equator the first time. It wasn’t unknown for pollywogs, as they were called, to be doused in seawater or struck with ropes. He didn’t think any of the sailors aboard the Continental would try such tactics on a lady, but when it came to Allegra and Gillian, he didn’t like to take chances.

  “Have you heard anything about a line-crossing ceremony?” he asked Roger Conant when the reporter passed him on the way to dinner that evening.

  A tall, slender, brown-haired man with a dapper style and cutting wit, Conant raised a brow. “Concerned, Howard? Tell me, what dastardly deeds have you performed to earn Neptune’s wrath?”

  Clay knew anything he confessed would find its way into the man’s next report to his newspaper. “Nothing,” he promised. “I’m more concerned about how the lady passengers will feel if they are the target.”

  Conant shrugged. “All I can tell you is that something is afoot. The junior officers have been muttering among themselves all day, and I hear salt water is to play a part.”

  Clay resigned himself to a long night.

  He wasn’t sure whether Mercer understood the potential for trouble or whether he was merely continuing in his quest to separate the ladies from the officers. Either way, the emigration agent made a great show of heading for his room at ten o’clock, insisting that any lady in his charge would do so, as well.

  A few agreed, and any number of rooms were shut tight by that hour, with no light shining through the slats on the doors. As if to make a point, Allegra, Gillian and Maddie remained in the lower salon. Allegra was sitting with Gillian on her lap as Matt Kelley attempted to teach the little girl checkers. Maddie perched on a chair next to their table to watch. Clay wandered over, as well.

  Mr. Debro joined them, his smile pleasant as usual.

  “Ms. O’Rourke, Mr. Howard,” he said after greeting Allegra, Gillian and Matt. “I simply wanted to say what assets you’ve been to this journey. Those molasses cookies today were the best I’ve eaten in years.”

  “It’s just in how you mix the flour and molasses,” Maddie assured him, though Clay caught sight of Matt licking his lips at the memory. “But I’m happy to hear you enjoyed them, so I am. Only, don’t be expecting more after tonight, for we put the last of the molasses to other uses.” She glanced at Clay out of the corner of her eye.

  Interesting. What other baked good required extensive amounts of molasses? He could hardly wait to find out.

  “Just as well,” Mr. Debro said, patting the flat of his stomach. “Many more of those cookies, and I would have popped a button.”

  “Why?” Gillian said, and Allegra smiled as she pointed her back to the game.

  “As for you, Mr. Howard,” the purser continued, face reddening just the slightest from Gillian’s question, “I don’t think I’ve ever served another passenger so ready to work. Captain Windsor says I’m taking advantage of your good nature. I hope that isn’t the case.”

  “Not at all,” Clay replied. “I suppose I’ve grown used to working. Once I left Boston, I learned that you do the best you can, but there’re always times when you need another set of hands, another point of view. I’ve received such help often enough that I’m glad to give it back.”

  “That’s because you’re nice,” Gillian said. She jumped one of Matt’s checkers and glanced over at him as if to make sure he didn’t mind. Matt grinned in encouragement.

  “Your uncle can be both kind and generous,” Allegra said with a smile to her daughter as if to encourage her, as well.

  He was going to end up bumping his head against the ceiling if they kept praising him this way. “Isn’t it your bedtime, Captain Howard?”

  To his surprise, Allegra’s look darkened, and she glanced at the ship’s clock on the far wall, where the hands showed a few minutes after ten. “Not just yet,” she said.

  “Mother says we are protesting,” Gillian informed him. She jumped two more checkers and frowned. “There aren’t any more spaces.”

  Matt started explaining the next stage of the game, dark head bent over the board and slender hands moving, but Clay could not shake his concern. Allegra and her friends intended to show Mercer he had no control over them. Would their actions end up bringing trouble on their heads tonight?

  As it was, Allegra and Gillian stayed up until half past ten before glancing about and bidding the company goodnight. Clay thought Allegra’s gaze rested on him the longest, but he wasn’t sure why. Matt followed them to their stateroom before taking his leave, as well.

  Others, like Maddie, continued to occupy the lower salon in direct defiance of Mercer’s orders, talking with friends or promenading on the arm of one of the unmarried senior officers. Clay settled himself into a wooden chair along the wall and waited.

  As the hour grew later, the crowd thinned. One by one, the women bid their friends goodnight, the men made their excuses, until only Clay, Maddie and Mr. Debro remained. As the purser went about extinguishing the candles in most of the lamps, she strolled over and plunked herself down on the chair beside Clay’s.

  “Sure’n you’ve no call to defy Mercer’s orders,” she said with a smile. “They don’t apply to you. So what would be keeping you up?”

  Clay leaned back in his chair. “It must be the excitement of crossing the equator.”

  She chuckled. “Excitement, he calls it. And why would that be cause for celebration? It isn’t as if they painted a big red line across the ocean, you know. It’s just a silly made-up thing.”

  “I cannot agree, by your leave, Ms. O’Rourke,” the purser said, coming to take down the lantern nearest them. “You may not see the equator, but it divides our world. Crossing from one hemisphere to another is a rare thing, even for some sailors.”

  “Aye, and so is crossing the Atlantic,” she countered. “But I did that at me da’s knee. No one celebrated that. I’m not thinking the going south is any grander than the going west.”

  “I cannot argue with you there.” Mr. Debro nodded to them both. “I’ll be turning in now. Leave the lantern burning by the kitchen in case there’s need of it.” He tipped his cap to Maddie. “Good night, Ms. O’Rourke.”

  “May you be having pleasant dreams, Mr. Debro,” she replied. She rose from her chair as the purser moved off, then nodded to Clay. “I’m thinking it’s time I turned in meself.”

  Clay rose as
well. “Good night, Maddie.”

  Before she could answer, a board creaked to their right, and Clay swung his gaze in that direction. The glow of the last lantern left a circle of light around the door to the galley. The rest of the room was sinking into twilight. Did something move along the far wall?

  “Who are you expecting?” Maddie murmured as if she’d seen his look.

  “Trouble,” Clay murmured back. He kept his gaze on the darker shape that seemed to be gliding toward the kitchen.

  She stood on tiptoe to speak in his ear, blocking his view for a moment. “Rest easy, Clay. We’re expecting trouble, too. But I own a derringer, and I’m not afraid to be using it.” Dropping back onto the balls of her feet, she headed for the room she shared with Allegra and Gillian.

  Clay started forward toward the shadow he’d seen, then realized that the way to the kitchen lay empty. He glanced around, ears straining for any sound. A snort from one of the rooms told him someone was about to commence snoring.

  He ought to go to bed himself. Maddie claimed they were ready for trouble. And a derringer? He shuddered thinking how the temperamental redhead would use such a pistol. He’d handed his over to Captain Windsor to be stored in the ammunition locker.

  Of course, she could well have cause to be so prepared. There was still an unreasonable belief in the East that anyone of Irish descent was somehow less than human. He’d seen cartoons in the paper depicting them as bulldogs or apes. Based on comments he’d overheard, some aboard ship still harbored the prejudice. Would their misguided feelings cause them to strike out against Maddie tonight? Would Allegra and Gillian be hurt in the process?

  Clay shook his head. What was wrong with him? Was he so determined to protect Allegra that he saw danger around every corner? She’d proven herself more than capable of taking care of herself and Gillian aboard ship. Was he trying to find a way to justify his presence here?

  And then there was the matter of Seattle. He knew a number of the women were looking to find employment. Maddie intended to bake and Catherine to nurse. Others clearly hoped for husbands. Allegra hadn’t mentioned what she hoped to do. As determined as she was to stand on her own, surely she wasn’t seeking to remarry.