“It'll be all right, Maria,” he said thickly. “You'll see. It'll be all right.”
Maria reached for her violin case and placed it on her lap. “My poor violin,” she cried. “It will be warped for sure. Then how can I pull beautiful notes from it? How, Alberto?”
“If anything happens to your violin, we shall purchase you another one when we reach America. I promise you that.”
“But I only want this one.”
“We shall take care of it as best as we can,” Alberto said, helping to hold the case, pulling it to rest partially on his lap.
“And the animals on this ship stink so,” Maria blurted, wrinkling her nose. “I thought the rains would at least wash the decks free of that stench. But it only seems to have worsened.”
“I sure hadn't expected to share our boat trip with horses, mules and sheep,” Alberto grumbled. “But we do have to, and the smell is one thing you'll have to learn to tolerate, Maria.”
The ship rose, fell and rolled some more, making the timbers creak in an almost weary-sounding fashion.
“When ever shall it end?” Maria sobbed. Her stomach ached both from the tossing of the ship and the lack of food, and her feet and fingers had grown numb from the continuing wet, cold dampness.
“Please quit fretting so, Maria,” Alberto said. “That won't make things any better.”
Maria chewed her lower lip. “Alberto?” she said softly. “Yes?”
“When the storm is over, can I please take these wet clothes off and put on a dress?”
He answered immediately and gruffly. “No. You cannot wear a dress,” he argued. “You know the dangers of that.”
“I still don't understand.”
“To wear a dress would be to show this ship's crew that you are a woman. You do know the dangers of that.”
“No, I do not,” she said angrily.
“I've told you. Over and over again.”
“I think you are wrong, Alberto,” she persisted. “I am not beautiful. No man would .. . did you call it… seduce me. You are funny, Alberto.”
Tensing, Alberto glared at Maria. “Maria, if you flaunt your .. . shall I say . . . your curves to these women-hungry seamen, you are asking for trouble. And, yes, my sister, you arc quite beautiful. Even a brother knows the beauty of a sister.”
“But to wear this ugly chimney sweep outfit for even another day almost breaks my heart,” she moaned. “I thought that once we left Italy behind, it would also mean to leave dingy ways of dressing behind. I so long to wear long, pretty dresses. The one Aunt Helena gave me is so lovely with its lace and bows. Please let me wear it?”
“No, Maria,” Alberto stormed. “I am to see to your safety and, damn it, you shall wear what I say. And please be sure to keep your hair hidden beneath that hat. That alone would give away the fact that you are not my brother.”
“Oh, all right,” Maria grumbled, then grew silent, listening. “Has the storm stopped?” she whispered. “The sea seems to be a bit calmer and I hear no more close thunder. Only occasional slight rumblings.”
Alberto quickly raised the blanket and searched the sky. There were still many gray, low-rolling clouds racing along overhead, but a rainbow filled another part of the sky in misty multicolors.
“Look, Maria,” Alberto exclaimed, tossing the blanket aside. “Isn't it so beautiful?”
Maria's eyes sparkled as she stood and straightened her back, looking upward. “They say that a pot of gold can be found at the rainbow's end,” she whispered. “Do you even think the one end of this rainbow stops where America lies waiting for us?”
“Maybe so,” Alberto said, looking slowly around him, stomping his feet alternately, sending small showers of water from his clothes. Since the storm's abatement, the activity on the ship had taken on a different note. The rain-soaked people began to move from their bunks, coughing, sneezing, wringing the water from their clothes and hair, and checking the welfare of their belongings.
The ship's crew scurried around, clearing the outer deck of fallen debris and shouting crude obscenities as they pushed their way through the throngs of people milling about.
Alberto leaned into Maria's face. “Now you remember what I said,” he whispered. “You keep that hat pulled down to hide your eyes and walk a bit stooped so no sailor will see your … uh … the size of your breasts.”
Feeling a blush rising, Maria cast her eyes downward. “All right,” she said. “I will.” She clung to her violin case as she watched Alberto reposition their trunks further up the deck, then scoot their bunks closer together.
“There. That's better,” he said. “If the sun ever shines again, at least we'll be where it can reach and warm us.”
Maria placed her violin case on one of the bunks. “Will it be as cold for the whole trip, Alberto?” she asked, shivering. She wrapped her arms around her chest, hugging herself.
“It is the month of October,” he said, walking to the ship's rail, to look far into the horizon, seeing gray meeting blue. Would he ever see land again? Had his Papa had such doubts when he had traveled from Italy to America? Setting his jaw firmly, he swung around on a heel to clasp onto Maria's shoulders. “Yes, it is the month of October,” he blurted. “And cold as it is, you must remember that in November even, we shall be sitting comfortably in front of a cozy fire in Papa's house. By God we will. Just you wait and see.”
Having suddenly pulled courage from Alberto, Maria lunged into his arms and hugged him to her, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “You always make me feel so confident of things in life,” she murmured. “Alberto, whatever would I do without you?”
Alberto hugged her tightly. “I will always be here for you, Maria.” But his gaze had traveled further up the deck, seeing a cluster of men taking their usual positions next to the ship's round, soot-covered smokestack. The storm had sent them fleeing for whatever protective covering they could find, but now they had returned, squatting, playing their same card games and smoking long, thick cigars.
Maria had heard a different tone in Alberto's voice and she had sensed his body grow tense. She pulled from him, searching his face, then turned to follow his gaze. Yes, it was the same men. Alberto had been almost mesmerized by the silly card games they were playing since the ship's moving out into the open sea. “Alberto?” she whispered, tugging on his sleeve. “Alberto!” she persisted, when he ignored her. She looked toward the men again, then downward at the money being shoved back and forth between them. She understood that this thing they were doing held a fascination for Alberto mainly due to the stacks of green bills being exchanged from one hand to another.
Maria reached up to touch Alberto's cheek, suddenly afraid, seeing a strangeness in his eyes … a look of need … a look almost the same as lust as he licked his lips feverishly. “Alberto, come and sit with me,” she pleaded.
“I've got to see how they play that game,” Alberto said, jerking away from her, then gazed at her with his wide, dark eyes. “Now you sit down on your bunk and I'll only be a minute.”
Maria clutched at his arm. “You don't want to even get near those men,” she whispered harshly. Her own dark eyes widened, pleading. “Can't you see they are evil men?” She shuddered visibly, seeing the thick black whiskers of most of them, and the filthiness of their shabby clothes. “And they're so dirty. Even dirtier than the clothes we have had to wear.”
“They might be all those things,” Alberto said. “But don't you see the money in their possession? God. They must be rich.”
Maria scoffed. “Rich? How could they be and dress n such a way? Bank robbers would probably be a more ippropriate way to describe them. Please, Alberto, stay away from them.”
“It looks too exciting, Maria. You know how boring life has been up to now for both of us.”
“But I'm afraid to be left alone.”
“I will only be footsteps away. Didn't I promise to always be here to look after you?”
“And I'm hungry, Alberto,” she whined, gathe
ring the bottom of her shirt in her fingers to twist it.
“The women folk will soon be cooking. You'll see.”
“If I could show that I'm a woman, I could help with the cooking,” she further pouted. “I've noticed that the ones who do the cooking sneak extra food beneath their skirts. I could even do that for us, Alberto.”
Alberto frowned, busying himself, removing from his inner pockets most of his money and already purchased train tickets for the long trip from New York to Illinois, then quickly thrust this into Maria's hands. “Here. Hide this,” he said. “Maybe the men are wicked as you say. No need in taking a chance of getting our money and tickets taken from me.”
Maria looked downward, mentally calculating how much he had given her. She wasn't skilled with numbers, but she did know enough to realize Alberto hadn't given her all the money they possessed. She circled her fingers around what she did hold and eyed him questioningly. “Where is the rest, Alberto?” she whispered.
His face flushed crimson as he looked quickly away from her. “A man apparently doesn't go sit to watch that card game without money of his own,” he mumbled, awkwardly thrusting his hands in his rear trousers pockets.
“Alberto!” Maria scolded. “You cannot do this thing. I know harm will come from it.”
Alberto's eyes grew wider when he watched one of the men thrust a huge wad of bills inside a wallet, laughing, then moving away from the men, to go and wrap his arms around a young, beautiful woman. He further watched as they disappeared below deck. He had heard whisperings about these women with the painted faces and low-cut dresses, and what the men paid them to do. His heart pounded against his chest… wondering how it would feel to reach up inside the skirts of a woman. He had seen enough of his sister Maria to stir his insides to an almost burning inferno. .. .
“Alberto?” Maria whispered.
He leaned down into her face. “Hide the money and tickets,” he said quietly.
“But where?”
“Inside the violin case. No one will ever have a chance to take it from you. I know how you watch it like a hawk.”
“Then you still insist on going to sit with those men?”
He held her face in his hands. “For a little while, Maria,” he said thickly. “Please understand. I'm a man. A man needs more than to sit idly by watching every-one else have fun.”
Maria batted her lashes nervously. “All right, Alberto,” she said. “But please. Not for long. I do want to be able to stand in line with you when the meal is completed and ready for serving.”
“I'm just as hungry as you, Maria,” he said, laughing softly. “My stomach is aching just as badly. Don't you know that?”
“Then please hurry back.”
“I shall.”
Maria stood trembling as she watched Alberto move slowly toward the men, and then tensed as all eyes turned to study him before inviting him to join them. Fear and dread surged through Maria, wondering if Alberto truly understood the dangers of doing so. But he was a man . . . and men had to know how to protect themselves. Surely Alberto could also.
Hunkering down beside the bunk, watching to see that no one was looking, Maria pulled her violin case back onto her lap. Then reaching upward, she pulled a tarnished chain from around her neck to remove a small, square key from it.
Again watching around her, she hurriedly unlocked her violin case with this key, then looked downward onto her highly varnished instrument that lay in silence on its soft bed of crimson velvet. She so wanted to pluck the strings that were stretched tautly across their bridge, but was afraid that to do so would be to draw more.attention to her and what she so desperately had to get hidden.
With the swiftness of her long, lean fingers, she placed the money and tickets in a small pouch at the inside far end of the case, hiding these snugly beneath packages of extra violin strings and a square cake of rosin.
“There. That should do it,” she sighed quietly to herself, then drew in a quick breath when a dark shadow fell over her and her violin.
Hurriedly covering the pouch with her hands, she looked upward into a man's face that was framed by hair that was more golden than rays from an afternoon sun. Their gazes then met, making Maria's body become as a thousand heartbeats. The color of this man's eyes was blue … as blue as'the deepest waters of the ocean. He was so unlike anyone she had yet to meet, accustomed as she was to the Italians’ dark eyes and hair. He had to be American. Wasn't he dressed as an American, in his ruffled, white shirt, dark waistcoat and tight-fitted breeches?
“I caught sight of your violin when you raised the lid of your case,” he said, stooping, openly admiring the instrument. With a quick flick of the wrist, he had plucked each of the strings. “Hmm. A beautiful tone. Do you play?”
Pulling the brim of her hat to hide her eyes, Maria sat as though in a spell, afraid to speak, knowing that this man would most definitely be able to tell by the pitch of her voice that she was indeed female. She quickly shook her head back and forth, hoping that to be answer enough.
A deep laugh surfaced from the man, causing Maria's eyes to move upward again. She could see amusement in the half smile playing on his lips and wondered if he had already guessed what was behind her silence. His clean-shaven face and the gentleness to the curve of his jaw made her want to trust him. And didn't she have a need for excitement. . . the same as Alberto? Even now, she felt strange stirrings inside herself, a strangeness she hadn't ever experienced before. Was it because this man of blue eyes kept watching her with a smile so gentle? Why . . . was he even flirting with her? Had he truly guessed that she was a female? “So you don't speak English?” he said, squatting down more closely beside her, so close even, she could sniff the aromas of a man's expensive cologne and richness of cigars. And his clothes were clean … and dry . . . which had to mean that he had possession of a cabin for this long voyage to America.
Shutting the lid to her violin case, she shook her head in affirmation, then locked the case with her key.
Another deep rumble surfaced from inside this man's chest. “Who are you trying to fool?” he laughed, pulling a half-smoked cigar from an inside pocket. He lit it and inhaled deeply. “If you couldn't speak English, how could you even know to answer my questions with the nod of your head?”
Maria's face reddened as she jumped to her feet. She searched for Alberto and found him deeply engrossed in his new card game. What was she to do? This stranger was going to discover her true identity. She just knew it. She tried to pull the chain that held her key over her hat and gasped openly when the hat went tumbling to the deck. She bent to grab it, but knew that she was too late. Her hair was tumbling loosely now around both her face and shoulders.
“Well, I'll be damned,” the man said thickly, rising, catching her in his arms as she stumbled sideways. “I was right. You are a female. Why in hell are you dressed in such a way?” he blurted, tossing his cigar aside, to hold her at arm's length. His eyes traveled over her, seeing the darkness of her eyes, sheltered by thick, long lashes. Her lips were sensuously full, trembling now, from noticeable fear, and he saw this slight birthmark of a strawberry color on the slight dimple of her right cheek. That damn hat had hidden much from his eyes.
His gaze lowered, seeing now the swell of her bosom, as it heaved in and out with each breath taken. Now that she was standing with a straightened back, there was no disguising what God had so blessed her with. And then there were the trousers. “Why, I've never seen a woman wear trousers before,” he quickly added, thinking her to be so stately tall and shatteringly pretty. He felt the heat rising in his loins, knowing that he had to have a taste of what lay hidden beneath the dark, soiled clothes. Beneath those clothes, there was a woman, a woman pulsating with womanly desires. He could almost smell the animal needs of them both . .. intermingling with the sharp sea air, whining around them. But wasn't she one of the unfortunate immigrants headed for the disillusionment of the coal mines of America? Nathan Hawkins's coal mines? Should he risk min
gling with her? What if she found out who he was? Would it interfere with his mission .. .”?
“Please let me go,” she said, begging with her eyes, then searching around her again for Alberto, but feeling a slow death rising inside her when she realized that Alberto was now in another world, a world of gambling…. Hadn't she only moments ago, before her encounter with this stranger, heard some women whispering of this card game they called gambling . . . and how it was the devil himself .. . luring decent men into a wickedness they could no longer say no to?
“Again I ask you,” the man persisted. “Why are you dressed in such a way? Do you not own anything more fashionable? Like even a dress?”
“Sir, I shall dress in any which way I see fit,” she hissed, knowing that she now had to take command of the situation. Alberto had betrayed her. He had chosen a game of cards . . . over her. . . .
“You're beautiful, even in such garments as these,” the man said, freeing her, now realizing that no matter what, he had to have her. “But aren't you cold? I see how wet you are since the storm. Might you want to follow me to my cabin? I have a small stove with a soft fire burning inside it. Might you want to join me?”
With wavering eyes, Maria studied him more carefully, feeling an increased pulsebeat in her throat. He was even taller than Alberto, but not any more gifted with shoulders than her brother. And wasn't this man so very persuasive in his smooth way of speaking? And yes, she was cold. She was hungry. If he had his own cabin, surely he also had some nourishment to share with her.
She gazed toward Alberto once again, seeing his lack of interest in her, then set her jaw firmly. “And what might your name be, sir?” she asked, with her chin tilted upward.
“Michael Hopper,” he answered, feeling hope rising inside himself. He didn't want to have am> part of those riverfront whores who traveled these ships . . . making their fortune from the gambling fools. No. He wanted a female who appeared not to lie with each man who asked her. He was afraid of diseases. He eyed Maria once again. True, her clothes were dirty . . . but her skin was shining clean, and he guessed that the clothes were a planned decoy… to keep men from taking advantage of her.
Rapture's Rendezvous Page 2
