The Whiskey Sea

by Ann Howard Creel

  “What?” she said, and almost let off the throttle.

  “Yep, that’s the truth.”

  It made no sense to Frieda until she saw who the new man was. The next night the handsome Ivy Leaguer from the bar made his way down the pier just as the sun was beginning to sink low in the sky, and Frieda had to catch her breath. Sauntering in that way that only the rich could saunter, panther-like, he wore sufficiently faded khaki pants and a plaid shirt that showed wear yet couldn’t disguise that it had been purchased in a fine shop. The new canvas tie-ups and smart boater hat were dead giveaways, too. He approached the boat without an ounce of hesitation and tossed down a small rucksack. She noticed the line of white skin on his wrist where he must have normally worn an expensive wristwatch.

  “Princeton,” said Dutch. “Meet Frieda.”

  She fought not to gasp as he tipped his hat. She leapt to her feet and felt herself blush.

  “I’ve already met the lady,” he said. “Well, I guess we’ve not formally met, but I’ve seen her alright.” He addressed this to Dutch, although his eyes never left hers. So here he was standing right in front of her: the beautiful rich boy who had paid his respects as she had shoved her way out of the bar. She was surprised he remembered her. She looked deep into his face; it was a youthful face, but the elegant, angular bones suggested he would fit in among English nobility. Snobbishness was saved by gentle eyes filled with eagerness, and something even more extraordinary, an innate sadness. She found herself momentarily mute.

  A crazy feeling came over her that she’d somehow mystically beckoned him here, that she’d pieced together snippets of her secret fantasies into this perfection. Her hidden loneliness, her needs, her wants had come to life and bid him here.

  “Frieda, ain’t you going to speak?” asked Dutch.

  She offered her hand to the man, brushed away her wild thoughts, and let herself return to her more normal state of annoyance. Just a rich boy, probably college educated—there had to be a reason Dutch was calling him Princeton—and most likely handy on board because of summers by the shore on daddy’s boat. Here was someone who wanted adventure, someone who didn’t need to do this. Someone out for a bit of fun.

  “I don’t hear ‘welcome aboard’ from you, little miss,” Princeton said with a dynamic smile. Perfect white teeth gleamed from a face tanned most likely by holidays; certainly not by work out in the sun.

  Did that smile ever fail to charm? Did he know how handsome he was? Of course he did, but she told herself it had no effect on her. She tersely said, “Welcome. There’s work to be done.”

  “I’ve never been afraid of work.”

  We’ll see about that, Frieda thought.

  Only a scratch of silver moon hooked the sky that night, and the seas were dark and hypnotically still as they made the run out to the rum boats, and the stars seemed to rise from the sea. The rush of adrenaline that came with going out had never simmered down for Frieda. And tonight there was the additional tension of not knowing for certain what this singular new man was doing here.

  Princeton sat as close to the pilothouse as he could, while Dutch explained the rules. No lights, no smoking, and no loud talking. Keep your eyes peeled at all times. Rudy took to the bow with his binoculars, and Frieda remained in the engine room to familiarize herself further with the engines of that fine boat, listening to her hum. She would care for it as she had cared for the Wonder, draining every drop of oil from the engines after each trip, refilling the pan with top-quality oil, pouring the gasoline into the tanks through a chamois leather to filter it for purification, and adjusting the points and plugs clearances to within a thousandth of an inch. Below deck was a complete set of tools, with spare plugs, batteries, flashlights, and other engine parts she might need in a clutch.

  They made the run out with no problems, and when Frieda came above deck for air, she turned her face into the wind off the bow and let it pour over her face. Every run was a little different, every run a new adventure. Although she loved taking care of the engines on land, nothing could compare to the journey out to sea. This was the best part of the job. All the moments in port were but a prelude to these. She loved Bea and Silver, but her life with them had remained rather drab. They lived much as they had before so that most of Frieda’s money could be stocked away. All concerns, however, soared away out here.

  At the rum boats their cases were loaded uneventfully. With Princeton helping, the loading phase went faster. The coast looked clear for a return journey. On the slower run back to shore, Frieda came up for fresh air and found Princeton sitting by himself, gazing out to sea as the wind whipped his hair and his eyes gleamed with an excited contentment. It was the same way she felt each and every night. But her first night stood out. That night, now so long ago. She recalled those feelings that Princeton must have been experiencing now.

  “Join me,” he said, and Frieda moved to his side. Something about his presence, that longing look in his eyes, along with its sadness, drew her near.

  “I didn’t know Princeton boys were interested in boats—other than pleasure yachts, of course.”

  “I’ve always loved the ocean,” he said quietly without moving.

  The sea had already changed. Now the curved moonlight fluttered through wispy clouds, and some chop scudded across the bay, sculpting ridges on the surface. “What do you know of the sea?”

  He paused. “I don’t know it like you do, I suppose. But I’ve crossed this ocean,” he said with a gesture toward the Atlantic.

  “As a passenger, of course.”

  After he smiled, he said, “As a passenger. On my first crossing I was just a kid going over with my parents. It was only a year or so after the Titanic. To tell you the truth, I was scared to death, even though I had to put on a brave face.”

  The boat cut across the ridged swells and settled into a nice rhythm. Frieda was surprised to find herself relaxing in Princeton’s company. She sensed life experience, intelligence, and a worldliness that he didn’t flaunt. “So how long are you planning to do this?” she asked after they had sat in silence for a few minutes.

  “The summer.”

  “Then what?”

  “Off to Harvard Law.”

  “Oh,” Frieda said through a sigh. “This is a summertime adventure. What happened? Parties at the beach house and dinners in the city weren’t enough for you?”

  He laughed. “As a matter of fact, no. They weren’t—they aren’t—enough for me.”

  “You need a little danger in your life,” she said flatly.

  His eyebrows shot up. “Hmm, maybe so.” Then his eyebrows flattened, and his eyes filled with curiosity. “I wonder why that is.”

  She laughed. “There’s no doubt why that is. If you don’t know danger otherwise, if you don’t have to worry about having enough money or food or shelter, maybe you have to go out and find it. Maybe it helps you feel alive.”

  At first his face was blank, and then it softened into what seemed to be admiration and a bit of amusement. “That’s a very interesting theory.”

  She said no more.

  Holding still, his head cocked, his gaze firm, he seemed to absorb every detail of her and what she had said. Then, “A very interesting theory. One that I frankly hadn’t thought of before. And it might just be true.”

  She turned her head and caught his eye. “What happens if you get caught?”

  After shrugging he said, “Plenty of lawyers in the family.”

  She looked ahead. “I see.”

  He put his hands between his knees, and his voice lowered and surprised her with its solemn timbre. “You don’t want me here.”

  Her breathing halted. “It wasn’t my decision. It’s Dutch’s boat.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I didn’t realize it was a question. It sounded more like a statement.”

  After leaning back, he smiled. “Ah, you either want to challenge me . . . or dismiss me. It could make for some interestin
g conversations. Nothing about colleges and money and society girls my mother wants me to marry.”

  “Oh, poor you, bless your heart.”

  A laugh burst out of him. She was surprised—and relieved—that she could speak freely. It seemed he could match her banter without being combative or the least bit defensive. Instead of barbs, it was as if they were giving each other easy nudges. It wouldn’t help to be at each other’s throats, especially if trouble came their way. “So what’s wrong with Princeton and Harvard Law?” she asked.

  “Human beings have a natural tendency toward ignorance,” he said with a smile. “I don’t want to interfere with that too much.”

  Frieda had to let that settle. Almost everything Princeton said was a surprise. “So, knowledge is a bad thing?”

  “Ignorance, or a certain amount of it anyway, might just be the key to happiness.”

  “Ah, so you’re spending time among the ignorant masses to uncover our secrets of lifelong delight.”

  “If you’re so fond of education, then why aren’t you in school somewhere instead of out here?”

  “I’ll have you know I had a wildly successful high school education.”

  The grin on his lovely lips had not left. “Clever girl.”

  “My father saved enough for secretarial school, but I wouldn’t be happy sitting in an office surrounded by gossiping women and cigar-smoking bosses.”

  “You’re making my case.”

  She shook her head.

  His smile faded. “Princeton and Harvard Law, you see—none of it was my choice.”

  “Come now. Nothing about your life was or is your choice? You’re here right now, and I doubt you asked anyone’s permission about that, other than Dutch’s.”

  “You’re right. This is one of the first decisions I’ve been able to make on my own.”

  She glanced around. “Now, where oh where is my tiny violin when I need it?”

  He cupped the back of his head in his hands. The ease of his movements and his confidence shook her. “You don’t get it, and you never will. But you amuse me, Frieda. You’re an unusual girl.”

  She relaxed. He was . . . genuinely likable.

  “I’m not asking for anyone’s sympathy or even their understanding. But I had to ask my parents’ permission to take this summer to myself. They had decided I needed more time in Europe to experience the culture, but I wanted to strike out and do something different and of my own choosing.”

  “Mingling with the lower classes.”

  “As you keep saying.”

  “And you think you’ll find that ‘something different’ here? It gets tiresome. And winter can be brutal. But never mind about that. This is just a summer soiree for you. Nevertheless, we’ll get chased; you wait and see.”

  He looked out over the water. “You aren’t going to scare me off, if that’s what you’re after.”

  She faced ahead, into the wind. “Where are you living?”

  “I found a summer house to rent up on Portland Road.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “So what’s wrong with summer houses?”

  She shook her head.

  The boat slowed as their conversation came to a halt.

  “We’re coming in for the drop now.”

  “OK. Tell me what I need to know.”

  She was impressed that he seemed to want to learn, and by his eagerness to dive into even the most menial of tasks. The drop could be as risky as the runs. “We never land at the same place back to back. We have five favorite drop zones, and we always rotate. And we always know where we’re going to drop before we go out. Our drop man signals us from the beach when everything looks clear to come in. He used to light bonfires on the beach, but now he uses flashlights of different colors. Dutch also uses the radio when he needs to, but always in code. The guard is getting better at intercepting and deciphering the runners’ radio transmissions. So we have to change things from time to time. The drop man’s nickname is Cobra. He’s been with us from the beginning, and Dutch trusts him with our lives.”

  “Sounds like an important job.”

  “He has to be able to defend the drop zone from thieves and pay off police if necessary. If he wanted to, he could stage a fake holdup and run off with the whole lot of it before the buyers come.”

  Now it was his turn to say, “I see.”

  There was a brief silence.

  “I saw you once before. Down here,” Frieda said. “A couple of winters ago. You were on a sailboat.”

  He seemed to be searching his memory. “I was here helping out a friend then, but I would’ve remembered seeing you. It must have been someone else.”

  “No. It was you.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “No. It was you.”

  As they pulled into shore, Frieda remembered back to when she had first seen Princeton. All along his image had been lingering somewhere in the back of her mind. Had the strength of her will beckoned him to return to this place and enter her life?

  CHAPTER TEN

  The drop went smoothly, but because the boat had a V-hull instead of a flat bottom, the men had to wade in waist-deep water to bring in the haul. In the winter they would have to use a rowboat. Princeton joined in the cool-water slog to shore, slinging bags of liquor as if he had been born to it and occasionally smiling at Frieda. Absolute silence was a must at the drop, as there were houses and roads nearby and they couldn’t call any unwanted attention to themselves. The cars holding buyers came and went slowly without headlights, and some of the loot was sold that night, then and there. The rest went into storage sites that Dutch had arranged. He’d found locals with sheds who were willing to risk storing the contraband for five dollars a case for freight, one dollar for storage. If they took two hundred cases from him, they made twelve hundred dollars for twelve hours’ work—more money than those fishermen usually made in a year battling the sea and the elements. The exchanges between all the men onshore were made in whispers absorbed by the soft sand underfoot.

  After they had arrived back at the docks, it was well past two in the morning but still earlier than they’d ever made it back before, so they decided to go to the dockside juice joint for a drink before calling it a night. The usual feeling of elation and relief after the run ended was still there, but another kind of adrenaline surge had set Frieda’s nerves zinging. She could scarcely feel her feet as they walked the long pier, the four of them sliding into the speakeasy.

  Unexpectedly, Frieda became aware of her appearance. Behind the bar was a scratched and smudged mirror, but it gave her enough of a sense of how she must look. Sea-blown hair, too long and out of style; her lips wind chapped; freckles on her cheeks from too much time in the sun; not a trace of pancake makeup or lipstick; dressed in a shirt and pants, like a man. Her nails bitten down raggedly, with engine grease underneath, and her hands red, raw, and probably repulsive, the skin calloused and chafed from pulling on mooring lines and handling engine parts.

  And still Princeton’s eyes focused on her. He had found a way to wiggle in close beside her while Rudy and Dutch became engrossed in conversation with two other runners. In the mirror she caught stolen glimpses of him through the haze and then quickly averted her eyes.

  Blood thrumming in her neck and breath threading in her chest, she whispered, “What is your real name?”

  “Charles John Wallace the third.”

  “The third? Why is it only rich men pass on their names?”

  He took a swig of his whiskey. “Damned if I know.”

  “I suppose Princeton was just awful.”

  He ordered another round of drinks. “Is this the only subject in which we’re allowed to engage?”

  Frieda shrugged with one shoulder.

  “No. Princeton was not awful. I was able to take a variety of courses there. Art, literature, sciences. But once I get to law school, it’s just law. Nothing else.”

  “Why do you have to go?”

  “Ah,” h
e said. “That’s a long and tedious story. But the short of it is that almost all the men in my family have law degrees. It’s expected. A rite of passage. But enough of this!” he asserted, but in a pleasant way. “All that family duty is downright boring compared to this.” He gestured around the bar, but he obviously meant the entirety of running against the law. “Out on the boat you don’t know what’s going to happen from one night to the next. And that’s what I want. I want to be surprised. And what you said earlier about the danger is probably true, too,” he finished.

  Charles laid his hand on hers on top of the bar.

  Frieda pulled it back. “What are you doing?”

  “At the moment I’m trying to get your attention.”

  “Ha!”

  “Don’t laugh. I have to work hard to hold your attention; I know that already. I have to impress you somehow.”

  Frieda blinked and tried to fathom what was happening. “Because I’m a female in close proximity? Because I’m convenient?”

  He set those lovely seeking eyes on her. The laws of biological chance had been breached when Charles was born. Not fair for one person to get so much.

  “You’re more than just a female in close proximity. And you’re hardly convenient. I came here for a simple adventure with no complications. I never planned on coming across you.” And then the swim of sadness in his eyes, captivating her. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since you stormed out of the bar the other night.”

  His words, his panther-graceful body, and his admiring gaze made Frieda feel as if she’d suddenly been lifted off the floor. She had no idea what to do with all of this. Could he really be interested in the likes of her? She breathed out, “I’m an odd bird.”

  “How so?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I don’t wear dresses. Don’t do my hair. Don’t wear perfume.”

  “Don’t bathe?” he said with a grin.

  She laughed. “Of course I bathe. But things girls are supposed to care about don’t mean that much to me.”

  “So, what do you care about?”

  He reached for her hand again, and Frieda was loath to deter him for a minuscule moment. A small bolt attached to her heart turned loose a notch, allowing a little leak of feeling to pass through. What meant most to her just then was Princeton’s approval, and she hated her vulnerability. She was never vulnerable. She was entranced by his every movement and expression and enraged at herself. How was this happening to her? She sensed compassion in this man who sat before her, vulnerable himself. But this . . . this she knew nothing about. She was the proverbial fish out of water.