As it actually was somewhat cooler, with what slight breeze there was funneled through the windows, she sank into a chair and began bouncing Annie gently on her knees. Crank came in with tumblers of water, cool from the wet canvas bucket he kept on the back porch.
“Well now, as I was saying,” Dick Dixon said after emptying his glass, “I thought of Powers as soon as I learned my boy wouldn’t be following in my footsteps. Pity I didn’t know sooner.”
“Matt as magistrate? I doubt he’d have done it, anyway. Too much saltwater in his blood. Surprised he stayed put as long as he did.”
“Still, if he changes his mind, you let me know. I approached him a year or so ago about becoming a pilot. With all the trade in and out of these inlets, it’s hard to find enough qualified pilots. All he’d have to do is learn the waters, and they all have to do that. Shoals change, channels shift overnight. Takes a right smart man, keeps him on his toes, I can tell you.”
In the cool, shadowy room, Rose allowed her mind to drift. Annie, her thumb securely between her swollen gums, leaned back against her bosom, generating a surprising amount of heat for one small body. Within minutes, she’d fallen asleep.
Within another few minutes, Rose, tired from another largely sleepless night, did the same.
“Don’t snore in mixed company, Rose, it’s not polite.”
“Wha—”
Her mouth snapped shut and she sat up, amazed to see that dusk had fallen and their guest was nowhere in sight. “Did I—is he—?”
“You did and he is. Son of his’ll be here in a few days. Dick’s promised to bring him out for supper. With Matt and Luther gone, you’ll appreciate some company your own age.”
Bess lifted the sleeping baby from Rose’s lap. She held her awkwardly until Rose could take her again, then said, “If I was married to a seaman, blest if I’d leave him untended. Too many fancy women around. Seen ’em with my own eyes, the way they pile into the jolly boats all painted up and smelling to high heaven, and go out to meet every ship that comes into port. No sir, I’d move myself right into his quarters and there I’d stay to repel all female boarders, else he’ll forget he even has a wife. Man’s memory’s no longer than his pecker.”
Rose’s lips twitched, but she was no longer surprised by anything the woman said, knowing it was meant to get a rise from her audience.
With a sly grin, Bess delivered her parting shot. “Growing up the way I did, there weren’t much I didn’t hear or see. You’d do well to keep a taut line on him, Rose, else you’ll lose him, sure’s the world.”
She could hardly lose what she’d never possessed. All the same, Rose made up her mind to start on the course of action she’d decided on the very next day, as soon as Annie went down for her nap.
But lord knows, she wasn’t looking forward to it.
Chapter Ten
The boat—a sail skiff, according to Peg, who looked after it while Luther was away—was much smaller than the mailboat, and far more graceful.
Nevertheless, it was still a boat.
Rose stood on the wharf, fighting the urge to turn away and forget the whole crazy notion. What had ever given her the idea that it would make a difference? Matt had planned from the first to leave her at home. It was the sole reason he’d married her, so that she could stay here and take care of his baby.
She looked at the boat, at the water, which was mirror-calm, then back at the boat. There was a flat, rectangular case of some sort rising up from the floor near the middle. She had no idea what that was all about. The front bench had a hole in it. Luther had told her it was for stepping—stepping?—the mast. She’d only seen him use oars.
Rose had no intention of using either mast or oars. She was determined only to climb down into the thing and see how long she could stand there without throwing up. With enough practice, sooner or later she should be able to go for hours without getting sick, which would be time enough to start learning about all the paraphernalia. Luther had mentioned that the first few times he’d sailed as a boy he’d been deathly ill. Then suddenly one day, he wasn’t. Just like that, he’d been cured.
Well, if a cure could be had, then Rose intended to have it. When she finally laid out her case before Matt, she wanted to be able to tell him that she would stay ashore if he insisted, but she would rather follow him the way all the women in the Powers family had followed their seafaring men.
Now that she had herself another husband, she intended to be a better wife. And if she was a better wife, then Matt, whether at home or at sea, would be a better husband.
At least he hadn’t married her for her money, as Robert had done, although she’d been far too naive to realize it at the time. Grieving for her parents, it had never occurred to her to wonder why a handsome, charming gentleman would suddenly fall blindly in love with a gawky, gullible girl with little polish and no looks at all.
Matt, on the other hand, had married her sight unseen. Given a choice, she would rather be married for her usefulness than for her supposed inheritance.
But then Matt had kissed her. More than a few times she’d caught him looking at her in a certain way. He had encouraged her to fall in love with him, which wasn’t fair unless he meant to love her back. And the one thing she knew about Matthew Powers was that he was a fair man.
It took her several minutes to lower herself into the bottom of the skiff. Arms flailing, it took less than thirty seconds to scramble out. Dismayed, she wondered if she shouldn’t simply settle for having a roof over her head and a baby to fill the hours and the aching emptiness in her heart.
From the new train station on Norfolk’s Main Street, Matt left Luther to guard their luggage while he went back outside to hail a hackney. “Hold on a minute, will you, Cap’n?” the young seaman called after him. “There’s something I been wanting to ask you.”
Luther had been chewing over something or other ever since they’d crossed the Virginia line. Probably concerning his rank, and who would take Billy’s place. Matt had put him off because at the time he’d been too busy going over every letter, every report from Quimby since he’d first commissioned the man to buy back the Black Swan.
Now, with just over two hours before they had to make their Boston connection, he had in mind tracking down the source of his troubles and securing himself a few answers. After all the letters he’d written, he knew the address by heart. “Later,” he called over his shoulder.
Some hour and twenty-five minutes later, he walked out into the drizzling rain again, his face a study in angry disbelief. By the time he reached the station, where his train was ready to board, disbelief had given way to a cold determination.
“As I recall,” Horace Bagby had told him when he’d tracked the man to his office, “your wife was to have left Norfolk shortly after the wedding. A day or so, at the most. I believe your aunt planned to accompany her, but more than that I really can’t say, as I never saw your, er—your bride, after she left my office. I thought surely by now she would have arrived.”
Matt was beginning to have a bad feeling about this business. Beginning, hell, he’d been feeling this way ever since he’d signed the damned marriage contract. “According to Bess,” he said impatiently, “my wife was suddenly called away to visit a sick relative. A week or so after that, Bess turned up with a companion, a Mrs. Rose Littlefield. Claimed they’d come down to help out until my wife could get there.”
Bagby had shuddered visibly. “Oh, my, I was afraid of that,” he whispered.
“Afraid?” All his doubts coalesced into a leaden weight in the pit of his belly.
“Mind you, I was never a party to…well, to anything other than the actual marriage. You do know, I assume, that your wife’s full name is Augusta Rose Littlefield Magruder.”
“Rose Littlefield? According to her documentation, I married one Augusta R. L. Magruder.”
“Goes by her middle name. Named for her grandmother, Augusta Littlefield, who happened to be Bess’s good friend and a c
lient of mine until she passed away. Married a man named Magruder—Rose, that is, not Augusta. Man drowned, I believe, which is when Rose came to live with her grandmother. That’s when I first made her acquaintance.”
Now that it was too late, Horace Bagby was suddenly a fount of information. Stunned, Matt could think of nothing to say that would adequately express his feeling of betrayal.
The lawyer rushed to fill the silence. “Do you know, now that I look back, it’s plain as day what happened. I believe Bess did mention that your bride was having a few, er—second thoughts. I warned her at the time against trying any shenanigans. Told her whatever she did, I wanted no part in it.”
“Is that why you ignored my letters?”
The older man tried and failed to look indignant. “I believe I answered the first one in a timely fashion.”
“Timely, my—! It took three weeks!”
“It’s been my experience, Captain, that it’s never wise to rush into anything of a legal nature.”
Matt prayed for patience. It was either that or wring the man’s neck. “You answered, all right. A bunch of ‘whereases’ and other legal bilge and not one damned fact.”
“If memory serves, you asked after your wife. And as I believe I told you at the time, while her name might have come up in conversation, I hadn’t actually seen her since the day of the ceremony. Shortly after that as I recall, I left town on a bit of private business.”
“Private business, my sacred ass.” Matt didn’t bother to hide his disgust.
Bagby’s jowls took on a pasty sheen. “Captain Powers, I’ve known your aunt for years. I am privileged to count her among my closest friends, but you have to understand, as I’m sure you do, seeing as how Bess is your relative, that sometimes—that is, on rare occasions, your—”
“The woman lies like a carpet. She’d sooner lie than tell the truth.”
“Well now, none of this was my idea, in fact I believe I recall issuing a stern warning—”
“Just cut to the chase, Bagby, I have a train to catch. Bess hatched up a scheme and then lied to us both about what she was up to, is that the gist of it?”
“Lying is a relative term. Prevaricating might be a better way to put it.” He coughed discreetly. “As you probably know, your aunt has a creative turn of mind. On occasion, that trait, as well as her, uh—natural enthusiasm—can lead her beyond the boundaries of common sense.”
“In other words, when my wife decided to sneak into my house using a false name and worm her way into my good graces long enough to see if it would be worth her while to stay, Bess willingly went along with her. Probably even suggested it in the first place, is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
“In a manner of speaking. Although I don’t believe—”
“Annul it.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Annul the marriage. Just do whatever it takes to cut me loose. I’ll be damned if I’ll have a cheating wife. Never wanted a wife in the first place, but I let Bess talk me into it.”
Matt had stood then, barely managing to control his anger until he could escape the small cluttered office. Once on the sidewalk, he lifted his face to the cool drizzle, took several deep breaths, then began striding off in the direction of the station. Two blocks down the street, he hailed a hackney. By the time he hopped off at the train station, paid the driver and went in search of Luther, he had settled on a course.
She was going to pay. It was too late for Bess; she’d been this way all her life, but one way or another, he intended to teach his conniving wife a lesson she would never forget.
Sanford Dixon, the magistrate’s son, came to supper with his father the evening before Bess left Powers Point. He was young and presentable, and because she missed Matt even more than she’d expected to, Rose spared him more of her attention than she might otherwise have done.
“I’ll be graduating from Chapel Hill next year.” Between the clam chowder and the bread pudding he’d told her practically his entire life story. “I mean to go into politics. Did Daddy tell you?”
“I believe he might have mentioned it,” Rose murmured.
“You see, I’ve made a study of ways to improve our public schools, and once that’s done, I mean to do something about public transportation. Do you have any notion of how hard it is to get from one small town to another?”
Thinking of her own most recent experiences, Rose nodded. It was all the encouragement Sandy needed to lay out his plans for a network of macadamized roads, and fleets of regularly scheduled hackneys and celerity wagons connecting every town of more than a few hundred souls between Charleston and Norfolk.
By the time the two men left, Rose was yawning, Crank had washed and dried and put away the last plate, Peg had brought in the morning’s firewood, and both men had retired to their rooms.
“Well now, from the way that young man took to you, I’d say we have a promising situation on our hands, wouldn’t you?” Bess was big on “promising situations.”
Rose closed the front door and momentarily leaned her forehead against the cool wooden panel. “Before you say another word, don’t. Just don’t.”
“Don’t what?” the older woman inquired, all innocence.
Turning, Rose shook her head. “Sandy’s a nice young man. Luther is a nice young man, and so is John, for that matter. But you seem to forget, I have a husband.”
“Matt’s my own blood kin and I love him like a son, but the boy don’t know the first thing about women, much less his own wife. Before it’s too late, you have to spark his interest, else you’ll not see hide nor hair of him until you’re both too old to remember why you married one another in the first place.”
“We married because I needed a job and he needed a nanny,” Rose said flatly. Exasperated, she flung out her hands. “Besides, he’s not even here. If your idea was to make him jealous, how can I do that when he’s in Boston? Even if he were here, he wouldn’t care.”
“That’s all you know.”
“I know I never should have gotten myself into this fix. I know cheating never works. I know—”
“Ballocks. If you hadn’t come down here flying false colors, you wouldn’t have come here at all. Instead you’d be in a hot attic earning slave wages working for some woman who treats you like dirt, while her husband sneaks into your bed every night to have his way with you.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, would you stop turning everything that happens into one of your blasted novels? This is my life we’re talking about! I’m trying to make choices I can live with, while you—”
“What d’you think novels are all about? Did you ever bother to read one, or is all you read those shelf-fillers your grandfather left by the ton when he died? Gussy never cracked a one of them, I can tell you that. I’d bet my bloomers that stick she married never did, either, but they looked mighty fine in that library of his. Waste, if you ask me. All those written words and not a one of ’em ever got read.”
“Goodnight, Bess.”
“Wait a minute, I’m not finished.”
“That stick was my grandfather.”
“You don’t even remember the man, he died before you were born. He was a stick. Now listen, I’ll be leaving on the mailboat tomorrow, but before I go—”
“I’m staying. False colors or not, I gave my word. And in case you’re still interested, I can sit in that blasted boat for nearly five minutes now without feeling even faintly queasy.”
She left without seeing Bess’s smile, nor did she hear the softly spoken comment. “Well now, isn’t this interesting? Now that the pot’s boiling, we’ll just see what floats to the top.”
It was late when the train pulled in. Too late to go down to the harbor. As tired as he was, Matt should have fallen asleep the minute his head touched the pillow. Instead, he went over in his mind the steps necessary before he could reclaim his ship.
Luther was snoring in the next bed. The boy had been practically sleepwalking for the past few hours.
Matt had planned on booking two rooms, but after going over his figures again on the way north, he’d felt a sudden need to watch his funds. As things stood he was going to have to scrape the bottom of the barrel to come up with the purchase price alone. Putting the Powers Point property back in order had taken more than he could spare.
Luther snored on. Matt envied the boy his ability to snatch sleep when and where he could. Staring into the darkness through red-rimmed eyes, he went over his mental lists.
Repairs; sure to be a few of those. Stem-to-stern inspection. Hire a crew. Take time to get the right men.
Cargo. He’d have to jockey for position when it came to bidding on cargo, he’d been out of touch for so long.
Rose. Damned deceiving woman. Kneeling in the sand trying to force a dead weed to live, lifting her sun-flushed face to smile at him….
Across the room, Luther muttered something in his sleep. Matt rolled over onto his belly, punched his pillow and commanded his brain to shut down. Dammit, he needed to be fresh come morning.
What seemed only moments later, he opened his eyes, blinked twice to get his bearings, then groaned and sat up. His head was pounding like a hundred kettledrums, but in spite of that, he began to grin.
Four years. Four long years, and she was finally his again.
Or would be once he signed the papers and handed over a bank draft for practically every cent he possessed.
“Get up, you lazy scoundrel, you want to sleep your worthless life away?” He swung out of bed, knuckled his eyes, then grabbed his trousers and headed for the washstand. “I’m due at Quimby’s at seven. We’ve just got time for a bite of breakfast, then you head on down to the hiring hall and start sizing up the lot. I’ll meet you there once I’m done with Quimby.”
Less than an hour later, feeling remarkably refreshed considering a lack of sleep and a hastily consumed breakfast, Matt strode off toward the harbor-side offices of one Asa Quimby & Associates, his mind fairly seething in anticipation.
Luther trotted along behind, picking his teeth. “Hold up a minute, Cap’n, I never got to ask you about—”
The Paper Marriage Page 13