Against the Wind

by April Hill

  Emily laughed. “Were that true, Ethan, my poor father’s life would have been considerably easier. I’m afraid that all three of my parents’ offspring have been a disappointment in matters of religious devotion. I don’t wish to shock you, but I’m not sure I could say with absolute certainty that I’m even a believer.”

  “Well, I’m not a man easily shocked, so you may feel at ease on that,” Ethan said. “In my life, I’ve known a number of heathens and idol worshippers who were excellent Christians, and Christians to whom I wouldn’t trust my watch. I take people as I find them, and I’ve rarely been disappointed.”

  “And me, Ethan? Am I a disappointment?” she asked softly. “One of those Christians with whom you wouldn’t trust your watch?”

  McAllister bent and kissed her. “Well, sweetheart, this voyage in your company has proved to be rather perilous. So while I might be wary of entrusting you with my good health, I would trust you absolutely with my watch, and with all my other worldly goods, as well.”

  “Your worldly goods?” she repeated. “And where might those be kept, may I ask?”

  “I have a small house in Boston, and I’m in the process of building another. Would you like to live in Boston?”

  Emily stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “I would much prefer to live at sea with you. I’ve no talent at housekeeping. Nor can I sew, or cook, or…”

  “Odd, but I have no complaint with your abilities—or lack of them.” He grinned. “A housekeeper can be hired, as can a cook and seamstress, my love. What talents you do have are far more entertaining. Our ship’s cook, Mr. Coffin, will be available at the end of this voyage. He’s cooked for me for eight years, and I’ve not yet succumbed to his meals, so I suppose I can tolerate it another eight years, until you’ve learned your way about a kitchen.”

  “Ah, Ethan, dear,” Emily demurred. “If I were you, I would have a long talk with my mother before you assume that I will ever master that much. She has more white hairs on her poor, dear head than any woman should have at her age, and most of it has come of trying to make me a proper housewife. And Father can advise you about my bookkeeping. If you are not a wealthy man now, I will probably put you in the poorhouse very quickly.”

  Ethan gave a hearty laugh. “Well, then I will simply guard my checkbook well, and keep a paddle handy, to deal with your overdrafts. Now, get below and go to sleep, my love. We’ll be in Halifax tomorrow, and before we sail again, I want to show you the city. I have several acquaintances there.”

  He kissed her goodnight, and as he watched her make her way back to her cabin, wondered what life would bring them both in Boston.

  For her part, Emily felt as happy as she had ever been in her entire life. Still, she had not missed the fact that in all Ethan’s allusions to home and hearth, the word “marriage” had never been mentioned.

  Chapter Nine

  The harbor at Halifax was bustling when they finally arrived, spring being a reality now instead of a distant longing. The weather was warm and windy, and an almost balmy breeze lifted the Liza’s sails, slapping them softly against the rigging. When the ship was safely moored, Ethan allowed the crew the afternoon and evening ashore, then took Emily into the city—to dispel her unpleasant memories of her first visit there.

  “I have a surprise for you,” he said, over lunch. “I think you’ll be pleased.”

  “Oh, could it be that you have yet another dear ‘friend’ here?” she inquired sweetly, between small bites of her lunch. “Perhaps one even more attractive than the lady with whom I almost dined on Cape Breton? Before you chose to throw me so rudely into the bay and attempt to drown me?”

  Ethan smiled. “I do have such a friend, now that you ask. Her name is Lady Edith Jacobs, a most attractive lady you’ll meet this very evening, as a matter of fact. Our arrival couldn’t have been at a better time, since there is to be a ball tonight at her home. Lady Jacobs’ balls are renowned for their elegance.”

  Emily stopped eating and placed her fork next to her plate, arranging it this way and that, obviously nervous.

  “Is Lady Jacobs a married woman?”

  “Widowed, I’m afraid. Three years ago.”

  “You appear to know a great many widows, Captain McAllister.”

  “Do I?” he asked. “I hadn’t realized it, but you may be correct. None, however, is as lovely and refined as Lady Jacobs.”

  Emily lifted her nose just slightly. “Widowed and lonely, I would assume—and always grateful for a visit from an ‘old friend.’ Am I correct in assuming that you customarily stay at Lady Jacobs’ elegant home when you visit this city?”

  Ethan nodded. “Yes, I do, now that you ask. In a lovely front bedroom room with a stunning view of the harbor. Not far, actually, from the even more palatial home of your recent betrothed, Mr. Withers.”

  “And your room there is quite near the dear lady’s own quarters, I would imagine?” Emily asked even more sweetly.

  Ethan finished his meal and pushed his chair back. “Are we ready to resume our tour of the city?”

  Emily sighed. “I’m not feeling terribly well, Ethan. If you don’t mind, I would prefer not to go out this evening, if you don’t mind.”

  “But I do mind, Emily. Lady Jacobs will be offended if…”

  Emily leaped up from the table, spilling the water glasses and drenching Ethan. “Lady Jacobs can go to blazes, and so can you!” She ran from the dining room and into the adjoining garden, with Ethan following close behind. He found her sitting on a marble bench beneath a tree, twisting her hands nervously and sobbing.

  “Emily, what the devil is wrong?” he asked, dropping to one knee before her. He took her hands in his and kissed them very gently.

  “I know that your friend is beautiful and elegant and sophisticated,” she sniffled. “And I’m sure you’d much prefer to be with her this evening than to be burdened with someone like me, who doesn’t even…”

  Ethan kissed her lightly. “Emily, dear, Lady Edith Jacobs is seventy-nine years old, uses an ear-horn to listen to my conversation, and has a large wart on her forehead. I’m sorry that I…”

  Emily wiped her nose, but she still didn’t look happy. “Oh. Well, then, but…will there be many people, there?”

  “There’ll be the usual nonsense, I suppose, a banquet, and dancing.”

  “Dancing?” she repeated weakly. “In a ballroom?”

  “Of course. The Jacobs’ home is one of the grandest in–”

  She interrupted him. “Do you know how to dance, Ethan?”

  McAllister smiled. “Well, there’s probably some argument about that, but I believe I can promise not to humiliate you too egregiously. I’ve never actually crippled a dancing partner, to my knowledge.”

  “I can’t go,” Emily murmured, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “I would simply embarrass you, in my ignorance.”

  “What ignorance?”

  “I don’t dance,” she explained humbly.

  “You don’t dance?”

  “Not a step, I’m afraid. Father considered dancing unseemly. His family is very old-fashioned about such things, and although we ourselves were never terribly strict Quakers, dancing was the one thing Father absolutely forbade. Once, Chastity brought home the music to one of Mr. Strauss’s new tunes to try to learn it on the spinet, and Father removed the music and the spinet from the house that very afternoon. He said that Mr. Strauss’s melodies encourage lustful thoughts.”

  Ethan chuckled. “Well, they certainly do that. I’m sure you’ll hear a number of them tonight at Mrs. Jacobs’. And you shall also learn to dance with me. I’ll wear a cravat, and a ruffled shirt and don my tightest breeches—all the awful things required of a proper gentleman. By midnight, you’ll be an expert dancer, and encourage lustful thoughts in all of the gentlemen present, myself in particular.”

  “No, I won’t,” she wept. “I’ll be clumsy, and stupid, and dressed like a frump in that same, drowned pink dress.”

  “Forgive me, darli
ng,” he exclaimed, smacking his forehead. “I’d forgotten that you’ll need something to wear. We’ll go shopping this very afternoon and buy you the prettiest gown in the city of Halifax.”

  “I wouldn’t have the faintest idea of what to buy, Ethan. As Father preferred, we always dressed very simply. I know nothing whatever about clothing, and I’ve never worn a fine ball gown in my life.”

  McAllister furrowed his brow. “Nor have I, Em, but I’ve certainly seen a great many of the things. Between us, I’m certain we can get the job done properly. It can’t be that difficult. I’ve known many women of extremely limited intelligence who are thought of as absolute paragons of fashion.”

  Emily wiped away a tear. “Chastity would know what to wear. She always knows what’s in fashion, and reads the ladies’ magazines whenever she goes visiting other people. I was always the frump, I’m afraid, with my nose in a book. Even at an early age, I recognized that other people dressed more fashionably than we did. Once, when I was only seven, Father took me with him to visit a colleague, so that his daughter Amanda and I might play together. But we quarreled almost at once, and one of us threw a vase at the other.”

  “One of you?” Ethan asked, raising one eyebrow.

  “Well, now that you mention it, it may have been me, although I immediately blamed Amanda, of course. It was apparently quite a valuable vase, because Elder Simpson took poor, dear Amanda over his knee and administered a perfectly dreadful spanking to her. He insisted that Father chastise me, as well, but Father refused, as he always did. Instead, I was made to stand and watch Amanda kick and scream piteously—as an object lesson, Father explained. But I didn’t feel guilty or repentant, or even the least bit sorry for Amanda’s distress. All I felt was the most wicked envy imaginable of her pantalettes, which were made of the finest lawn and trimmed with lace and tiny pink ribbons, whereas my own were nothing but rough muslin. I’m almost ashamed to admit how absolutely delighted I was to see her being thrashed so painfully on those sinfully beautiful drawers!”

  Ethan shook his head. “Emily, I will have to confess that your stories are making me very nervous about ever producing female children. Are all young girls as evil as you were?”

  Emily took offense. “I was not evil—exactly. I attended meeting each First Day and read my Bible every night, although I will confess that I often daydreamt while I read, and sometimes hid less uplifting books between the pages. I was certainly better than Chastity, though, who committed to memory all of the Song of Solomon by the time she was twelve, and underlined the naughtier passages for emphasis.”

  “Your girlhood might have been considerably different had you been reared in my mother’s house,” Ethan observed with a smile. “She’s a woman one doesn’t cross lightly, and she would have had no moral problem whatever in spanking you as soundly and as frequently as your father did not. As a boy, I used to wonder whether Mother’s hairbrush was used for anything other than scorching my own backside. But at the same time, she would have seen to it that you attended every dance in the county, turned out resplendently in the newest fashion as you whirled around the ballroom floor.”

  “All right, then, Ethan,” Emily said mournfully. “ I shall go with you, but I still won’t dance.”

  But Emily did dance, in a dress of exuberant, wine-red satin that showed her white skin and lovely shoulders to great advantage, and drew numerous admiring glances from Lady Jacobs’ male guests. The young men with whom she danced appeared not to notice that Emily knew none of the newer (or even the older) dance steps, and occasionally squashed their toes as she swirled about on a delirious cloud of Viennese waltzes that would have scandalized her poor father (and garnered the eternal envy of her younger sister.)

  It was close to midnight when Ethan went looking for Emily. He had shared cigars and brandy in the vast library with several other sea-faring men he knew only slightly, and wanted very much to share a last dance with the woman he loved, now that his right foot had recovered somewhat from her earlier stomping. After an extended search of the premises, he found Emily in the moonlit greenhouse, investigating Lady Jacobs’ orchids in the company of that lady’s attractive young son. Emily (to put it in the most delicate way possible) was highly inebriated, and Martin Jacobs was making excellent use of her condition by fondling her breasts, while Emily giggled and watched.

  “Good evening, Martin,” Ethan said, announcing his arrival in a loud voice to allow young Mr. Jacobs time to extract his hand from inside Emily’s bodice. “I see that you and Miss Fowler have gotten to know one another, this evening.”

  Jacobs flushed as he quickly withdrew his hand and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Captain, I didn’t…”

  Ethan smiled. “Of course, you didn’t.” He took Emily’s arm to guide her toward the door. “Excellent effort, Martin. If you hurry, I believe that you will find the lovely Miss Goodspeed and her enormous bosom still in the ballroom, eagerly awaiting your attention. I’m afraid that Miss Fowler must be on her way back to my ship, now, before the wine wears off and she loses her dinner on one of your mother’s fine Persian rugs. Good night, now.”

  Emily made it as far as the front door before passing out, whereupon Ethan swept her up into his arms, carried her to their hired carriage, and returned to the ship, with Cinderella fast asleep on his shoulder.

  The ship was under way on a rough sea when Emily finally arose, left to sleep as late as she wished at the captain’s direct order. Such an unheard-of privilege being afforded a cabin boy, even this cabin boy, annoyed Mr. Johnson no end. He made his disapproval of such foolish goings-on quite clear when Emily finally arrived on deck, woozy and still unsteady on her feet.

  “Fine thing, indeed! Comin’ aboard late and drunk as a lord, and sleepin’ half the day away! What yo’re in need of is a damn good hidin’, miss. And if it waren’t fer the Cap’n’s good mood this mornin’, you’d git it! Lalligaggin’ like this when there’s caulkin’ to be done!”

  Emily grimaced. “Yes, Mr. Johnson. I’m sorry, Mr. Johnson. I’ll get right to it, I promise you, as soon as…”

  Suddenly, a great wave struck, and the Liza’s bow rose in the air and dropped violently downward with a force that knocked Emily off her feet, and Mr. Johnson, as well. When he had gotten to his feet and hurried aft, Emily stood up and faced into the wind to let the cold salt spray blow on her face. The ship rose and came down again with a thunderous crash, sloshing icy water down on her head. Dripping wet, she made her way to the quarterdeck, where Ethan and Turner were directing the shortening of the sails in the unexpected high wind.

  “Go below,” Ethan shouted to her, over the roar of the waves. “It’s far too rough, just now.”

  “But, I love it!” she shouted back. “It’s beautiful!”

  “That was an order, Miss Fowler!” he yelled. “Get below, now, before we have to fish you out!”

  “No! I’d rather stay up here!” She whirled around, a bit dizzily. “The wind is wonderful!”

  Ethan’s voice rose to a bellow. “I’ll not ask you again, Miss Fowler! Get below, at once!”

  Emily merely smiled and took his arm. “Ethan, don’t be so…”

  The captain removed her hand from his arm.

  “If you don’t do as I ask, Emily,” he said, leaning close to her ear. “You are risking a very sound spanking on your entirely naked backside before the entire crew. Do you understand? Now, go below, and do it at once!”

  For several tense moments, Emily stood her ground, glowering with fury and silently daring him to act on the humiliating threat. Her open defiance was met with the cold eye and firm set to his chin she’d seen before. A look she took, quite correctly, as a warning.

  “You’re behaving like a tyrannical bully,” she declared frostily. “Unworthy of respect, or obedience!” Emily delivered the insult quickly, and stepped just as quickly out of his arm’s range, stumbling over a coiled rope as she backed away.

  “Mr. Turner, “ Ethan said calmly. “Will
you please escort Miss Fowler to her cabin, place her inside, and bolt the door securely?” But when Turner moved forward to take her arm, Emily shook his hand away and glared at him with contempt. “I am quite capable of finding my way, Mr. Turner, without your assistance.” She turned on her heel and began to make her way forward along the pitching deck alone, struggling to remain on her feet in the fierce wind. Turner followed just behind her, trying to make polite conversation.

  “It really is best, Miss, with these high seas, that you remain below.”

  Emily sneered. “Is it your intention to clap me in irons, then, Mr. Turner?”

  “Of course not!” he cried. “I don’t believe that Ethan meant–”

  “Captain McAllister meant to have his own way, as he always does,” Emily responded icily.

  Turner grinned. “Well, Miss, short of God himself, I know of no other man as accustomed to having his own way as is the master of a ship at sea. There are those who would argue that even God himself enjoys less privilege in that regard.”

  “That is neither just, nor intelligent,” Emily fumed. “Is this entire crew bound in servitude to Mr. McAllister? Are you?” she shouted over the din.

  “Servitude is not the correct word,” he replied, obviously stung by her words. “But all of us, myself in particular, are expected to obey orders. Ethan…Captain McAllister is my superior, not just in rank, but in experience. He is, I might add, my good friend, as well.”

  Emily sighed in defeat. “All right, Mr. Turner. I understand, and I am truly sorry to have caused this much trouble. Will you forgive me?”

  “No forgiveness is necessary, Miss Fowler, but you must try to appreciate Ethan’s concern for your welfare. He’s inordinately fond of you, and he had only that in mind when he asked you to leave the quarterdeck.”

  She nodded, her earlier tantrum tempered by a growing headache. “I understand. I was being a nuisance. I promise to stay out of everyone’s way. I’ll just stand here, and watch.”