by Justine Cole
"I should come home during the day more often. I had no idea I was missing so much."
"Don't be infantile," she flared, stepping down off the last rung.
She was about to sweep from the room when she stopped herself. This was the perfect opportunity to confront him. It galled her that he had forced her to come to Cape Crosse so he could fulfill his promise to Constance, yet now that she was here, he hadn't once mentioned showing her the shipyard. If he thought that after all that had happened she was still wiling to turn over control of her shares to him, he was about to be reinformed.
"I want to visit the shipyard."
"Don't you have enough here to keep you busy?"
"It's not a matter of keeping busy, Quinn," she said sweetly, knowing that even if he wanted to, he wouldn't break his word to Constance. "I just want to keep an eye on what's mine."
She could tell by the cold look that settled around his eyes that he didn't like her comment; however, he nodded begrudgingly. "Have one of the men bring you around tomorrow."
Her face as she turned to leave the room did not quite conceal her pleasure over the small victory. "I'll do that, Quinn."
With a groom to lead the way, Noelle rode Chestnut Lady the two miles to the shipyard. She had taken particular care with her appearance that day, coiling her hair low on her neck in a simple but elegant arrangement that she set off with tortoiseshell combs. She chose a fawn riding habit trimmed with dark brown piping and, as a final touch, settled the topaz ring on over her wedding band.
The shipyard was larger than she had imagined and bustling with activity. There were ships in various stages of construction, each one surrounded by piles of wood and mountains of fresh shavings. Lining the yard were at least a half-dozen buildings, some a single story open at the sides, others taller and enclosed. The sound of iron being hammered told her one belonged to the shipsmith; another she guessed to be a warehouse. She watched a wagon pull up at a third to receive a load of canvas through the door of the loft. At the end of the yard was a wharf where a large ship with a team of workmen crawling through its rigging was anchored. The smell of wood shavings, tar, and old hemp permeated everything.
"Afternoon, Miz Copeland."
"Why, hello, Carl."
The flaxen-haired Swede who had done some work at Televea the week before biushed with pleasure that she had remembered his name. "If you're lookin' for Mr. Copeland, he's over watchin' the planking. I'll go tell him you're here."
"No, don't bother. I'll go over myself."
Noelle walked toward the group of men Carl had indicated and watched them curiously. They were standing at the base of the frame of a ship, its bare timbers towering over them like the rib cage of a giant animal skeleton. Off to one side, fires burned under large kettles that were shooting their steam into long enclosed boxes.
While Noelle watched, there was a cloud of white steam as one of the boxes was opened and two men wearing leather gloves reached in with hooks to extract a steaming plank of wood. As it whipped loosely in the air, pliable from the moist heat, they climbed up to the exposed ribs at the bow of the skeleton ship and, before it could stiffen, began clamping it down so that it conformed to the curve of the frame.
"I don't like the way that one looks, Pat. Take it off and try another strake."
As Quinn moved around the front of the frame he caught sight of her, his admiring glance telling her that the extra pains she had taken that morning with her appearance were worth the effort.
"Take over, Pat. Any more of that wood looks green, you let me know."
As he approached, Noelle shielded her eyes with her hand from the wintry midday sun. "I don't want to pull you away from your work, Quinn."
"I'm done here. It's a good time to show you around." He led her to a large frame building at the front of the yard. Over the doorway was a wooden sign with intaglio letters of shining gold:
COPELAND AND PEALE, SHIPBUILDERS
CAPE CROSSE, GEORGIA
LONDON,ENGLAND
Noelle looked up at the sign and smiled. "I see the British have been put in last place as usual."
Quinn laughed. "Old Tim told me that when Simon first had the sign hung, it read the other way around and kept disappearing. He'd have a new oce made and, within a day, it'd be gone, too.
Finally he took the hint and changed the order of the towns. Nobody's touched it since except to repaint the letters."
For the first time, Noelle noticed a small group of men standing to the side.
"Afternoon, Boss."
Quinn took Noelle by the arm and led her over to the men, and he introduced her. It was a pattern that was to repeat itself as they made their way through the yard, leaving each man anxious to go home and tell his wife that he had met Mr. Copeland's bride that day.
As the afternoon progressed she found that she remembered much of what Quinn had told her while they were on board the Dorsey Beale, and now it was surprisingly easy for her to make the mental connection between the incomplete structures before her and the finished ship. When she correctly identified a carling and then a breast hook, she felt as much satisfaction as she had the day she had finished Robinson Crusoe.
"So you finally decided to let her visit us, Quinn."
Noelle turned to see a pleasant-faced young man in a frock coat walking toward them.
"Noelle, this is Julian Lester, our business manager."
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Copeland."
She liked him immediately, and they were soon calling each other by their first names and chatting about the responsibilities of his position.
"You can't imagine how glad we all are to have Quinn back. I do much better with ledgers and contracts than with caulking mallets and lathes. Simon and I are much the same. That's why we've needed Quinn so badly."
"Julian exaggerates," Quinn said. "He's done a fine job these past two years."
"I'm just glad it's over now, and we can settle down to building the best ships on the North Atlantic." He turned toward the sloop behind them. "We'll be launching her soon. Why don't you come and watch?"
"I'd like that," Noelle answered.
As he was ready to leave them, he said, "My wife will never forgive me if I don't ask you if you're ready for company, Noelle."
"I'd enjoy meeting her," she assured him. "Just warn her that she may have to crawl over ladders to get in the front door."
After Julian Lester left them, Quinn led her out to the wharf and then, taking her hand, helped her onto the anchored frigate. His hand felt comfortable as it clasped hers, cool and strong, a little rough from the work it had been doing. She made no protest when he did not immediately let her go.
"These masts are made from spruce. We float the trees down the river and finish them smooth in the spar shop. Sailors are superstitious, so we never step a mast without putting a silver coin under its butt."
Abruptly he craned his neck and pulled away from her. "No, Frank. You need more tension on that stay. Slack off on the shroud!"
As quickly as that, he had forgotten her and was at the ratlines, climbing up into the rigging as easily as if he were mounting a staircase. Noelle watched him for a while and then began wandering about the frigate, speaking to the men as she passed but being careful to stay out of their way. She heard Quinn's laughter and looked up to see him climbing even higher, supremely confident in this world of which he was the undisputed master.
Later, as she rode toward Televea, she reviewed the afternoon. The shipyard fascinated her, and she vowed that she would go there frequently and learn all she could. As she rounded a sharp bend in the road Chestnut nickered and tossed her head nervously. Noelle reached out to pat her neck. "There now, Chestnut. What's the—"
Suddenly a horse shot across the road from a stand of trees on the side. As Chestnut began to rear, a large fist reached out and clamped itself around the bridle, bringing the mare back under control. "Need some help, little lady?" The voice was sneering and unp
leasant.
Noelle jerked around in her saddle. Her heart lurched as she stared into the small, malevolent eyes of the man she had seen standing by the smokehouse at Televea. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her hand instinctively tightening on her riding crop.
Insolently he doffed his felt hat, revealing thin, straw-colored hair. "Jes' wanted to pay my respects to the bride." His eyes slid down over her body. "Looks to me like you couldà done better than that bastard Copeland."
Noelle glanced uneasily at the hand still clamped around her bridle. "Who are you?" she asked, keeping her voice cold and even.
"Name's Baker, little lady. Luke Baker." He studied her expressionless face. "That name don't mean nothin' to you, does it?"
"Should it?"
"Jes' thought your husband mighta mentioned me. Him and me go back a long way."
Suddenly Noelle remembered a conversation she had overheard between Simon and Quinn during those last days in London. "You're the man who was suspected of setting fire to the warehouse, aren't you?"
"Don't know nothin' about no fire." He grinned unpleasantly as he said it, and Noelle decided that he was lying.
"Let go of my horse, Mr. Baker," she snapped. "This instant!'"
His small eyes raked over her. "Tell me, little lady," he jeered. "You ever get lonesome at night? I hear between the shipyard and Kate Malloy's, your high-and-mighty husband don't spend a lot of time at home."
Noelle lifted her riding crop and slashed it down across the fist that held the bridle. Baker gave a startled yelp of pain, but to her dismay, did not release his grip. "You little bitch," he snarled, jerking the crop from her with his free hand. "You're gonna pay for that."
"No, Baker. You're the one who's going to pay."
In their struggle, neither of them had heard Quinn approaching on Pathkiller from the other side of the bend. Baker stared at the pistol trained at his heart. Slowly he released his grip on Noelle's mount.
"Put that gun away, Copeland. I ain't done nothin'."
Quinn did not take his eyes off Baker. "You're wrong, Luke. I sent one of my men for the sheriff as soon as I heard you'd been seen lurking around the yard. You're going to be spending some time in jail."
Baker licked his lips nervously. "What for?"
"Trying to burn down my shipyard last year," Quinn scoffed contemptuously. "What happened? You couldn't get to me so you went after the shipyard instead?"
"You're bluffing," Baker sneered. "I wasn't anywhere near that shipyard. And I got witnesses to prove it."
"I've seen your friends. Baker, and I don't think their word will count much with a jury. Besides, I've got my own witnesses. Ned McLoughlin and Carl Bremer saw you that night."
Baker stared impotently at the gun trained so unwaveringly upon him. "You're lying! There weren't any witnesses to that fire."
"Oh, but there were. We knew you'd show up again as soon as you heard I was back from England. Ned and Carl have just been biding their time, waiting to tell their stories to the judge." Noelle saw fear flickering in Baker's eyes. "You're not a stupid man, Baker," Quinn said, "but you've let your hatred for me ruin your judgment. You should have stayed away."
Baker could no longer contain his rage. "You son of a bitch!" he screamed, drops of spittle collecting in the corners of his mouth. "Stay away? After you killed my brother?"
"Your brother attacked an unarmed man."
"He was an Injun!" Baker spat. "You killed a white man for an Injun!"
Quinn's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Noelle saw his muscles tense. Later she wondered what would have happened if the sheriff had not ridden up at that moment with some of the men from the shipyard.
After they had taken Baker away, Quinn turned to her. "Are you all right?"
She nodded. "Baker was the man I saw near the smokehouse."
Quinn dismounted and picked up her riding crop from the road. "I suspected it was him, but I wasn't sure. Until today, nobody else had seen him. Then, right after you left the yard, one of the men told me somebody thought they'd spotted him near the gate." He rested his hand on the back of her saddle and handed the crop to her. "You should have waited for the groom to ride back with you, Noelle. I've told you I don't want you riding alone around here."
"Don't try to put a leash on me, Quinn Copeland," she flared. "I can take care of myself. I had my knife in my boot and was just waiting for the chance to use it." Without waiting for a response, she dug her heels into Chestnut's flanks and galloped off down the road.
Chapter Thirty-two
The next afternoon, Julian Lester's wife, Emily, came to call. In appearance, she was much like her husband, with the same soft brown hair and hazel eyes. As Noelle led her through the completed rooms she found herself warming to her as quickly as she had to Julian.
"You've done so much here," Emily marveled as they returned to the drawing room. "Televea is going to be even more beautiful than it was when I was a child."
"I didn't realize you'd lived here so long, Emily."
"Oh, my, yes. At Darcy Hall, not a mile away. Goodness, I spent almost as much time at Televea as I did there. Of course, we all did. We were drawn here like bear cubs to honey."
"Why was that?" Noelle asked, trying to imagine this house full of children.
"Because of Amanda. We all loved her."
Although Noelle had never heard her name, she knew Emily must be referring to Quinn's mother. "Tell me about her. Quinn speaks so little of his childhood."
"Oh, Noelle, she was something, 'deed she was. We all had secret guilty dreams about our parents disappearing. Not dying, mind you." Emily laughed. "We were too civilized for that. Just mysteriously disappearing for a while so we could come to live at Televea.
"Our mothers all called her 'Poor Amanda' because her servants took advantage of her, and she couldn't keep house. They'd give her their recipes for furniture polish or tell her how to get the muddy tracks off the stairway carpet. She'd just laugh and tell them she was too busy playing with her son and keeping her husband happy to have time for such foolishness. Oh, my, how they used to sigh over her. But they loved her, too. She'd delivered most of their babies."
"What did she look like?"
"There's a painting of her somewhere. I suppose Simon took it down after she died. She wasn't beautiful, not like you are. But she was striking. Strong features. Dark hair that she always wore in a sort of braided coronet on her head and, ob, my, you never saw a woman who cared less about clothes. Why, she'd take us into the woods, wearing a new dress, and before you'd know it, she'd be dragging her hem in the mud at the riverbank while she showed us how to catch fish without poles. Simon used to complain that he had to build an extra ship every year just to replace the clothes she ruined. He'd always laugh when he said it, though, and we knew he didn't really mind."
Emily smiled, and there was a faraway look in her eyes. "We all envied Quinn so much. They treated him differently than our own parents treated us. They were always touching him, I remember. Every time he walked by, one of them would rumple his hair or hug him or sometimes just pat his arm. I remember one day Simon kissed him on the top of his head in front of the other boys. How they all teased him! But he only laughed and said that if they didn't mind themselves, he'd tell Simon to kiss them, too."
Emily sighed. "Of course, it all changed after she died."
"How did it happen?"
"Malaria. It was real bad that summer. What a sad time that was. Nothing ever stays the same, I guess."
She gave a small embarrassed laugh. "Goodness me, Noelle, I sound just like Julian's Aunt Cornelia with my reminiscing. He says I've been acting strangely ever since I discovered I was in the family way." There was pride in her voice as she confided that after seven years of marriage, she and Julian were finally expecting a child in the summer.
"I hope it doesn't take so long for you and Quinn. It would be nice to have our babies close together."
Noelle smiled noncommittally, gla
d now that she had not shown Emily the upstairs of the house. Somehow, she doubted that her new friend would understand why she and Quinn were sleeping in separate bedrooms.
After Emily had gone, Noelle poured herself a cup of tea and wandered distractedly into her sitting room, her footsteps echoing on the bare floor. She ambled over to the front window and gazed thoughtfully out. She didn't see the hedges that were now clipped back from the walk or the brick driveway that curved so gracefully up to the front of the house and no longer had weeds growing between its cracks. All she saw was Amanda Copeland.
How vivid Emily had made her. Was that why, now, she seemed so close? Did she know, even from her grave, what a hard, driven man her son had become, hating the father he had once loved, happy only with his ships? Was she trying to reach out to Noelle? Tell her to help her son?
Abruptly Noelle set down her cup and made her way, as if by instinct, to a room she had entered only once before. It had been a nursery, she guessed, before it had become a schoolroom. Among the dusty trunks and old chests, she found the evidence of her husband's boyhood: primers with childish pictures and misspellings in the margins; a wooden ark; a battalion of lead soldiers, their bright red uniforms chipped and faded. There was an airy wooden cradle with spindle sides and, behind it all, as she had somehow known it would be, the painting of Amanda Copeland, carefully wrapped in layers of protective cloth.
It was a full-length portrait of a woman wearing a red dress with a white fringed shawl draped over it. At the base of her throat hung a small silver disk, the same one that Quinn now wore. Emily had described her well: black hair, a strong nose, dark eyes set a bit farther apart than fashion dictated.
Noelle sat for some time studying the portrait and thinking about the woman Amanda Copeland must have been. Finally she replaced the cloth and left.
Quinn had left word with the grooms that Noelle was only permitted to ride to the south and east of the house, not into the wooded area that bordered the rear. The restriction had begun to chafe at her even before the incident with Luke Baker. Now that he was safely in jail, she decided there was no longer any need for such caution. And so, the afternoon after Emily had made her visit, Noelle impulsively turned toward the woods, ignoring the groom who called out to her from the stable door. Chestnut Lady's hooves silently crushed the sprouting seedlings that had unwisely sought haven on the narrow path. She wouldn't go any distance, she decided; just far enough to ease her resentment.
