Forever Safe (Beacons of Hope)

by Jody Hedlund

  “We’ll be safe, won’t we?” She hated that her voice caught.

  He nodded. “Your father paid the pilot and crew handsomely to stay silent.” His features were more somber than she’d ever seen them.

  “Then what’s bothering you?” she asked.

  He removed his hand from his pocket, crossed to her, and held something out. As she took it, she realized it was a simple gold ring with a tiny engraving of roses at the front. “You’ll need a wedding band,” he said. Without waiting for her to slip it on, he returned to stand at the rail once again, his back and shoulders stiff as he peered out over the water.

  She knew she shouldn’t be hurt by his abruptness, that their marriage was in-name only and would be over in a month. Even so, she couldn’t hold at bay the doubts that came creeping back in. What if God didn’t want them to play at an institution meant to be revered? Was Tom having doubts too?

  When they docked in Bourne, they boarded a stagecoach. She’d expected the coach to take them north along the coastal road to Boston and was surprised when, after only an hour or so, they stopped in the small town of Sandwich.

  They purchased tickets and headed up the gangplank of another steamer, this one a far cry from the private luxurious boat they’d ridden on that morning. Not only was it small, but the white paint that hadn’t yet peeled away was a dirty, smoky gray. The deck was warped in places and some of the rail slats had fallen away. She was taken aback further when Tom led her down the steps to the boiler deck filled with children running around, babies fussing, and parents attempting to manage the unruliness. She started to protest and insist that Tom take her upstairs to nicer accommodations, but he ushered her to an empty spot, claiming that the crowded area was the best place to hide.

  Before she could argue with him further, an older couple took the bench across from where she sat. The man unrolled a newspaper from under his arm and began reading. not seeming to notice her and Tom in the least. However, his dour wife, attired in all black, apparently decided that she and Tom were to be her entertainment for the afternoon. The woman stared openly as Victoria instructed Tom to fetch her shawl from her bag. When Victoria proceeded to ask him to close one of the windows because of the draft, the older woman pursed her lips as if she didn’t believe in men doting on women.

  “He’s such a good husband, isn’t he?” Victoria held up the wedding ring Tom had given her on the Lady Caroline. “We just got married.”

  The woman’s brow quirked skeptically. “Is that so? I would have guessed he was your manservant.”

  “Oh no,” Victoria said quickly. She obviously wasn’t playing her role believably enough. Although Tom had doted on her, he’d been much too silent and aloof, always on duty, noticing everyone and every detail. Even now, he was standing next to their bags, his feet braced and his arms crossed. Indeed, he looked more like her hired help than her husband.

  Victoria stretched to reach his hand. “Come sit down and relax, dearest.” At first he began to pull away, but she tightened her grip on his fingers and forced a smile. “This woman doesn’t believe you’re my husband,” she said under her breath. “We certainly can’t have her thinking that, can we?”

  Tom glanced at the woman, who was now looking at him cynically. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun and her lips pinched tightly, making her look like a severe school teacher who would rap their knuckles for the slightest infraction. He hesitated only a moment longer before sitting on the bench next to Victoria. Even then, he kept a proper distance between them and relinquished her hand.

  Victoria had to refrain from elbowing him. She wasn’t an actress by any means, but she’d been to enough theatrical productions over the years that she wasn’t completely ignorant. If they were going to convince anyone they’d just been married and were on their wedding trip, she would have to do the work herself.

  She scooted closer to Tom and reached for his hand again. This time she laced her fingers through his. “Don’t mind him,” she said to the older woman. “My devoted husband is prone to sea sickness. As a matter of fact, his stomach is always queasy whenever we go sailing. The last time we were on my father’s yacht, he had a little accident. He ate too much shrimp and decided to put it all back into the sea. If you know what I mean.”

  The woman’s eyes widened, and this time she coolly assessed Victoria, staring at her hat, which was rather plain with only a few ribbons and flowers, and trailing down her serviceable traveling outfit. When Tom had come for her earlier that morning, he’d told her the gown was too fancy for the trip but hadn’t made her change, since they’d been in such a hurry. She’d tried to explain that the lavender outfit was one of her oldest from last summer season. She was rather appalled to be wearing it and had only managed to don it by reminding herself that it was merely a disguise. Not one of her acquaintances would ever suspect that she would wear something so outmoded, and now Victoria prayed this older woman didn’t know enough about fashion to tell she was a fraud.

  Tom squirmed against her hand, but she grasped it more firmly. “Yes, my darling has such a weak stomach. He can’t stand the smell of poached eggs. He goes green in the face every time our cook makes them.”

  Tom suddenly jumped to his feet and tugged her up after him. He plastered on a false smile for the older woman. “Will you excuse us for a minute?” Without waiting for the woman to respond, Tom propelled Victoria toward the nearby window that he’d closed for her. Once they were a safe distance away from the couple, he hissed through his fake smile. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  She smiled too brightly in return and whispered back. “I’m trying to pretend we’re married. Which is more than you’re doing.”

  “Sailing? Yacht? Shrimp? Cook?” His eyes flashed with anger. “You might as well just tell her your father is the wealthiest man on the East coast.”

  Her retort died. She supposed she had given too much away. “You’re right. I need to act poor.”

  Tom’s smile grew more forced. “Just sit quietly.”

  “She’s growing suspicious.” Victoria chanced a sideways glance at the woman, who was still staring at them. “She doesn’t think we’re married. She thinks you’re my hired help.”

  He raised his brow. “I am the hired help.”

  “But we still need to act our roles around other people.”

  “Then let’s be a couple who’s been married for a while and doesn’t like each other anymore.”

  “You did hear me tell her that we just got married, didn’t you?”

  The strong lines in his jaw flexed, and he took a deep breath. Then before she knew what was happening, he pulled her into an embrace. Not just any embrace, but a full body hug, his arms wrapping around her and pressing her against his long torso.

  “What are you doing?” She pushed away, but he held her tight.

  “Acting,” he whispered. “Now hug me back.”

  She didn’t waste any time arguing, not that she particularly wanted to. She slipped her arms around him and rested her head against his chest. For a man of his power and strength, he exuded a tenderness that was unexpected. Yesterday she’d been too frightened and upset to consider exactly how it felt to be in his arms. But today she was all too aware of his presence, his nearness, the pressure of his body against hers.

  His hands were on her lower back. She was conscious of each finger touching her, as well as the hard contours of his back beneath her hands. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoed against her ear, and she caught the faint scent of bay rum from his aftershave lotion.

  He moved his hands to her hips and shifted her away enough so that he could look into her face. Something in his eyes sparked a fire in her belly, and again she was sensitive to his fingers, almost as if they were brushing her bare skin instead of layers of skirt. Then he laid on her a grin so devastating that her body began to melt and her knees weakened, swaying her toward him.

  Speechless, she allowed him to lead her back to the bench, where he
sat next to her and draped his arm across her shoulders.

  The older woman hadn’t taken her sights from them during the entire exchange, and now she watched, her eyes growing rounder by the second.

  Under normal circumstances, Victoria might have smiled in amusement. But with Tom’s arm brushing the back of her neck, she couldn’t think of anything else, especially when his fingertips skimmed her shoulder. She wasn’t sure if he’d done it on purpose or not, but the touch sent tingles down her arm.

  He leaned into her and, in the process, tipped her hat up. Before she could react, he angled his head and brought his mouth near her ear. His breath was warm and caressed her neck so exquisitely she bit her lip to keep from gasping. When his lips pressed against the hollow part of her ear, she couldn’t prevent a soft cry of pleasure from escaping.

  He pulled back and straightened in his seat.

  Embarrassment coursed through her at her reaction to him.

  He glanced at the older woman, whose mouth now hung open. “Lover’s quarrel. But we’ve made up.”

  Then he smiled so innocently and beautifully that the woman’s pale face began to color under his charm. She closed her mouth and fumbled at the clasp of the bag sitting at her feet. She dug inside and retrieved two knitting needles attached to a skein of black yarn. She plopped it onto her lap and began to knit with rapid clicks.

  Victoria couldn’t move, could hardly breathe.

  When Tom leaned into her ear again, her lungs constricted in anticipation of his touch. The tip of his nose brushed a curl dangling by her cheek and his lips grazed her ear, sending a tremor through her. “Is my acting good enough now?” His whisper was barely audible.

  She could only nod, afraid her voice might come out too squeaky or breathless. He was a very good actor. For a brief moment she half-wished he wasn’t pretending, that he really meant every touch and caress. But as soon as the wish came, she was mortified with herself for so easily forgetting about Nathaniel.

  Nathaniel. By now Father would have delivered her letter. The one she’d written last night after she’d sent her maids away. What had started as a simple goodbye had turned into so much more. Even now, she cringed at all she’d written and prayed she hadn’t made a huge mistake. She’d told Nathaniel she needed to break off their engagement, at least for the duration of their separation. She’d assured him she loved him, but that she needed time apart to test whether she was really ready for marriage. Quite honestly, she didn’t know if the month of separation would be long enough to determine her feelings.

  In the meantime, she wasn’t being fair to ask him to wait for her, and she’d given him the freedom to move on, if that’s what he wanted to do. She supposed now that she was legally married to Tom, breaking off the engagement was the right thing, at least temporarily. After all, who’d ever heard of an engaged married woman?

  Even though she’d broken her engagement, she hadn’t planned on forgetting about Nathaniel. Especially so easily.

  She squirmed on the bench, but that only made her aware of Tom’s thigh pressed against hers. While he sat so nonchalant and seemingly unaffected by her nearness, she wasn’t sure how she could endure the rest of the steamer ride in such close proximity to him.

  At a popping on the deck overhead, the muscles in his arm rippled against her shoulder. He glanced toward the stairway that led to the upper deck. The seriousness in his eyes told her that he was worried about her safety.

  He stretched his arms casually above his head and then stood. “I need fresh air.”

  She nodded, still too flustered to speak.

  He took a step away but stopped and brushed her shoulder as though he had every right to caress her whenever he wanted. “Stay here.”

  She nodded again.

  He disappeared up the stairs, and after he was gone, she felt strangely alone. She hadn’t been without him at her side in public for the last month. He’d never been more than several feet away. If a man had dared to abduct her with her bodyguard standing beside her carriage door, what might someone attempt with him well out of sight?

  Her attention shifted to a man in a shabby suit several benches away. He’d pulled out a pocket watch and was staring at it with tired, glassy eyes. Then her gaze darted to one of the other men, who was lying down on his bench, his hat covering his face, his chest rising and falling with slumber.

  Her mind told her that Tom wouldn’t have left her alone if he hadn’t already assessed every person in the room and deemed her safe. He’d probably guessed each person’s occupation, place of residence, and reason for traveling. If anyone had been the least threat, he wouldn’t have budged from her side. Even so, she shivered, in spite of the warmth of the room.

  He returned a few minutes later, making his way through the crowded deck toward her, dodging children and carpetbags. When he lowered himself onto the bench, she was more relieved than she wanted to admit. Even though he didn’t say anything, she could see from his expression that whatever had happened didn’t involve her, that she was safe.

  Although he took the spot next to her, he didn’t touch her again. She couldn’t deny she was disappointed. She’d rather liked the playacting. But she also realized how easily his merest touch affected her and that she’d need to be careful not to take things too far. Beside she’d promised Father that she’d do her best to behave. After all, she wanted to be able to walk away from this situation after a month with a clean conscience. And of course, Tom had promised her father that he’d keep their relationship professional. No matter what they did when they were acting, they had to remain faithful to their promises.

  When the steamer finally docked and they disembarked, Victoria came to an abrupt halt halfway down the gangplank as she took in the little town before her. It contained none of the factories, big businesses, and bustling seaport trade of a large city. “This isn’t Boston.”

  “You’re stopping traffic.” Tom took her elbow and guided her the rest of the way down.

  Numerous long piers lined the waterfront along with all varieties of sailboats and sloops, some with sails raised and others empty and deserted. In addition to the piers, wharves and fish houses were built out over the water and were filled with rack after rack of fish laid out in the glaring summer sun.

  As a gust of wind blew against her, so did the overpowering odor of the fish. She pressed a handkerchief against her nose to keep from gagging. “What are they doing with all the fish?”

  “Salting and drying it.” Tom tugged her along the pier toward the sandy beach. “The salted cod used to be sent to sugar plantations in the West Indies as the basic food supply for slaves there. Even after slavery was abolished, it’s still remained the primary occupation and source of income here.”

  “Where exactly is here?”

  “At the top of Cape Cod in Provincetown.”

  “Provincetown?” Beyond the busy waterfront, the town was quaint and pretty in a smallish sort of way. A tall steeple of a church rose above the roofs of plain clapboard homes, most painted white. Still others were constructed of the typical cedar, which was more resistant to the weathering and rot that came from being located on the sea.

  A main road led away from the waterfront and wound through what appeared to be a downtown area with a few stores but certainly not a busy metropolitan full of shops, taverns, and people.

  It reminded her of some of the Midwestern towns she’d stayed in when she’d gone with her father to visit his mining and lumber holdings in Michigan. Although she’d enjoyed being with her father and exploring a new region of the country, she’d been grateful when her father had shortened their itinerary because he’d missed seeing Mother. The small towns just hadn’t appealed to her.

  “We can’t possibly stay here,” she said.

  “We’re not.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  Tom guided her out of the flow of others disembarking around them. Once they were on the beach, he put their bags down and studied the piers
to the east as though he were looking for someone.

  The summer sun was unrelenting, and the treeless beach didn’t provide a spot of shade. The heat from the sand soaked through the thin leather of her shoes and through the layers of her bodice. Her parasol and fan were both in the bag. And her stomach was beginning to rumble after having gone without a meal since the simple breakfast she’d had on the Lady Caroline.

  She glanced again toward the town, hoping to spot a restaurant or some place they could go to get out of the sun. “Since we’re here, we may as well explore the town,” she said, trying to remain optimistic while fanning her face with her lacy handkerchief.

  “There’s no time.” Tom waved at a stooped shouldered man who was in the process of rolling up a fishing net. “Wait here.”

  Without waiting for her to respond, he strode down the beach. She couldn’t stop herself from admiring his long, purposeful stride and the muscular build of his body that his suit didn’t hide. When he stopped to talk to the fisherman and motioned back at her, she quickly looked away, hoping he hadn’t caught her ogling. Instead, she feigned interest in several fishermen in another boat shoveling piles of silvery fish into crates, although the very sight made her stomach churn.

  Thankfully, Tom didn’t speak to the old man long before turning and trotting back to her. “We’re all set.” Beads of perspiration had formed on his forehead beneath the rim of his hat. Evidently, he was hot, too.

  “Let’s go get something to drink,” she urged. “Perhaps a cold glass of lemonade? Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

  He was already picking up the bags, but he paused and regarded her, his brows slanted in empathy over his lusciously dark eyes. “I’m sorry, Victoria. It’s best if we keep to ourselves. The more people who meet you, the more suspicion we’ll attract.”

  “But we’re not staying here.”

  “It’s close enough.” He started back to the stooped shouldered fisherman.