by Kimberly Nee
Elena, who’d been dozing with her head on Rafe’s shoulder, scrambled to her feet at the sound of the doorplate scratching, but Rafe and Serena remained seated, Rafe rubbing his burning eyes as he asked, “Well?”
“I’m afraid there is nothing I can do for her, Captain Sebastiano. Nor is there anything that needs to be done. She seems fine to me.”
“Seems fine?” Rafe braced one hand against the floor to push himself to his feet. “An hour ago, she asked me the same question half a dozen times.”
“Well, she isn’t doing that now.” The doctor reached into his bag to pull out a small bottle and a pair of gloves. He passed the bottle to Rafe. “Tincture of willow bark for your mother’s headaches, should they worsen.” Rafe nodded as the doctor pulled on his gloves. “Your mother is quite the interesting lady. Very well traveled.”
The doctor launched into a dialogue of the stories Mami had told him of her days at sea with Papi. Rafe only half-listened as he turned the bottle slowly between his fingers. The liquid inside was deep ruby, almost purple in its depths, and looked exactly like red wine. Hopefully Mami wouldn’t object to taking it, if it meant relief from her pain.
“May we see her?” Elena’s voice cut through Rafe’s reverie.
“By all means. As I said, she is alert and awake. I think she’s going to be just fine once this terrible weather passes. She said it often causes her terrible headaches.”
Rafe hung back as his sisters crossed the threshold, and caught the doctor by his wrist. “So, you’re saying there’s nothing wrong with her? This odd behavior was merely from a headache?”
“No, Captain. I’m saying there is nothing wrong with her that I can see. In my opinion, yes, it’s an isolated incident brought on by two days of headache and very little sleep. You would be a little confused as well, if your head throbbed for two solid days and you couldn’t go to sleep and rest.”
“Perhaps.” Rafe didn’t believe the doctor as he glanced down at the tincture again, but he couldn’t force him to say anything else either.
With that, Mr. Lucas left, his faint whistle trailing after him down the corridor. Rafe stood there, trying to decide if he should send word to his father or just accept the doctor’s words. Neither option was satisfactory.
The light flickered, casting long, almost ominous shadows along the walls and floor. He didn’t know what he should do, if there was anything he could do, but he couldn’t stand out in the corridor all night. Tucking the tincture into his waistcoat pocket, he pushed open the door to Mami’s room and joined his sisters.
Chapter Nineteen
Katie peered up at the blue-and-ivory sign above the freshly painted blue tavern doors. The Old Towne Tavern was now Balboa’s and had changed much since the last time she had seen it. Gone was the rough and tumble, scratched and faded sign that had hung above the door for years. Now it looked more like a café than a waterfront tavern.
She pulled open the door and above her head a bell tinkled merrily. The inside was no longer dark and foreboding, but light and airy, newly painted the same blue and ivory as the sign, and the tables were draped with fine white linens. It looked so welcoming and warm that for a moment Katie wasn’t certain this was owned by the same Balboa. Perhaps something had happened to him and someone had renamed his tavern in his honor.
The thought left her feeling queasy.
“Is anyone here?” she called.
The floor was swept clean, the planks shiny beneath a layer of wax. There was no garbage, no cigar stubs, no broken glass (or broken teeth, thank goodness) and that was a definite improvement. Whoever ran it had been taking good care of it.
When no one answered, she called out again. “Is anyone here?”
The doors leading to the kitchen swung open with only a hint of a creak, and with a surge of relief, her gaze landed on Balboa, who hadn’t changed at all. He was still all broad shoulders and strong arms, ready to crush one in a powerful embrace if one wasn’t careful.
“Do my eyes deceive me?” Brilliant white teeth flashed against his beautiful dark skin, and his lilting voice held the same note of laughter as always. “Katie? Is tha’ really you?”
Her smile stretched her face so wide it almost hurt. She dropped her valise on the floor and gave into the instinct to throw herself into his arms. Finally, something felt right. If anything, Balboa was even wider and more muscular than she remembered, and he caught her easily, laughing as he said, “Easy, girl! You’re heavier than I remember.” His arms tightened about her.
“Oh, it’s so good to see you.” She hugged him tight, her spirits higher than they’d been in weeks. At least he hadn’t changed. His familiar scents of coconut oil and rum would always remind her of him and would always remind her that there was somewhere in the world where she’d find refuge.
She’d only arrived in port that morning, not quite two hours earlier, and was relieved to find not much had changed about Kingston. Except for Balboa’s, but he could explain that in good time.
“And you, love. Tell me, where is your man?”
He set her down and moved as if to peer around her. A hint of embarrassment flashed through her. Her man. She didn’t even know if Rafe was still her man, or if he’d ever been. “He isn’t with me. Not yet. He was in the Colonies, but he should be here soon.”
“Why ain’t you together?”
She waved away the suspicion in his voice with an airy hand. “It’s a very long, very dull story. I had to leave, but he’ll be here. That’s all I can say.” She slipped her arm through his. “Tell me, have you any work for a seasoned barmaid? I promise you I can clean up as nicely as this place did. I was in service as a lady’s maid for an earl’s daughter.”
Before Balboa could answer, a soft, honeyed voice floated from behind Katie. “Andre, who’s this?”
Katie spun about, not sure if she was more surprised by the soft female voice or by the fact that she’d known Balboa for a lifetime and this was the first time she’d ever heard anyone call him Andre. Until now, she hadn’t known that was his name. She hadn’t even known he had a first name.
The woman coming in from the back smiled, but hers was an uneasy smile. She wiped her hands on a towel, her thick dark hair skinned back into a sleek knot at the nape of her swanlike neck. She had large eyes, almond-shaped and tilted upward at their outer corners to give her an exotic look. Her skin was light brown, and as she came around the bar, Katie could see she was heavy with child. She was strikingly beautiful, and as soon as Balboa looked at the woman, Katie knew they were a couple.
“Sophie, this is Katie. A dear friend of mine.” Although she expected it, Katie felt a sharp pang when he added, “Katie, this is Sophie. My wife.”
Suddenly, she felt very idiotic, embracing him as if he was family, as if she was somehow important enough for him to hug. Katie untangled herself from him and managed to smile at Sophie. “How do you do?”
Sophie’s smile was reserved. “I’m well, thank you.” Her free hand came down to curve against her belly. “When I’m able to breathe, that is.”
Balboa gazed down upon his wife with unabashed love. “He is active today?”
“He is active every day.” Sophie rolled her eyes as Balboa flattened his hand on her belly. To Katie, she said, “I’ve never known a man so excited about being a father.”
“It has taken me many years to become one. I’m allowed a bit of excitement. Now, go and sit. I will finish.”
Katie looked away as Balboa bent and kissed his wife tenderly, then patted her on the backside. When she looked back, he was still grinning like a madman.
“You’re blushing, Katie. I don’ think I’ve ever seen you blush before.”
“When did you marry?”
“Not quite two months ago. People will talk, but I don’t care.”
“Talk?”
“The baby. That’s w
hat it took to get her to agree to marry me. I’d been asking since the first hour after we met. She didn’t say yes until she was round. I don’t know why.”
Katie glanced over at Sophie, who was seated at one of the back tables, poring over a ledger. It didn’t surprise her that he was now married. He was sweet and kind, and successful—the perfect husband. He would make a wonderful father as well.
“You need work, Katie?” Balboa’s voice sliced through her reverie.
Katie blinked back into the present. “Yes. If you have any, that is.”
“What of your man?” His brow wrinkled, and his dark eyes narrowed. “Sebastiano still has offices here. He cannot support you? I thought they were doing well.”
Although she’d expected his question, she dreaded having to answer it. “He doesn’t exactly know I’m here.”
“Oh, Miss Katie, what did you do now?” He steered her to a table and fetched them goblets of wine, and Katie sat back in her chair. Ever mindful of Sophie’s presence, Katie leaned an elbow on the table and softly told him how she came to be back in Jamaica. When she reached the part about sneaking into Rafe’s room, Balboa threw back his head and laughed. “Rum’s on me when Cap’n Sebastiano arrives!”
But his smile faded when she told him about the butterfly and being unceremoniously tossed from Marchand Hall. “And here I am,” she finished, lifting both hands to gesture to the walls around them. “I have to say, I can’t believe what you’ve done here. It looks so different. It looks beautiful.”
“That would be Sophie’s doing. She’s the one what decided we should improve our appearance. Especially with the baby comin’ and all. She didn’t care for the crowd we were attracting. So we changed the name, cleaned it up and here we are.”
Katie glanced over at Sophie, whose smile remained formal. She had the distinct feeling Sophie did not want her there. She was part of the crowd Sophie didn’t want patronizing Balboa’s any longer. Trying to ignore that feeling, Katie turned back to Balboa. “Have you any need for a barmaid? Or a serving girl?”
“You know I can’t say no. We jus’ hired a new girl last month, but we can always use one more. ’Specially since I don’t want you goin’ back to what you used to do.”
Heat crept into Katie’s face, and it had nothing to do with the brilliant sunshine flooding in through the sparkling clean windows, now adorned with those beautiful lacy white curtains. She knew Balboa had never approved of how she’d supported herself; he’d gone so far as to propose to her. Anything to keep her from going back to it.
She shook her head. “You’ve nothing to worry about. Those days are far behind me. I’ve no desire to ever go back to those ways again. I’m not that same pathetic creature I used to be.”
“Good, although you weren’t never pathetic, Miss Katie.” Balboa’s smile faded, and his expression became utterly serious. “Because Sophie and me, we won’t stand for that here now. We’ve a good reputation an’ I want to keep it that way. I don’t let those rooms no more.”
“I wouldn’t think of tarnishing your name,” Katie told him, patting him on the arm. “But could you tell me where I might let a room, then?”
He glanced over at his wife and then back at her. “You, I make an exception for.”
From the corner of her eye, Katie saw Sophie scowl. Her chair legs screeched across the floor as she pushed it away from the table to heft herself to her feet. “Andre, perhaps we should discuss this?”
“There is nothing to discuss.” Balboa’s voice held a tone of finality. “Katie’s a dear friend. She will stay here.”
The tension thickened in the air as Sophie’s lips pulled downward in a frown. “Do you think that’s wise? We’ve worked so hard to change what people thought about this tavern. Worked so hard to make it respectable. I don’t want anything to ruin that. I don’t want word getting out that we’re letting rooms to women such as…such as her.”
Those words sliced through Katie like a sharpened blade, cutting her in a way nothing ever had before.
Balboa’s expression turned pained. He’d always been such a good friend to Katie, and she could see the small battle that must be going on inside him, and the shame she felt now, hot and prickling, was far worse than any she’d ever felt in Bermuda. Coming home had been a mistake. It wasn’t home any longer. She’d been gone for nearly a year and yet people hadn’t forgotten. Even if they could believe she’d changed, no one would give her the chance to prove it. She’d never even met Sophie before this, and yet Sophie knew what Katie had been, what she still thought Katie was. No amount of protesting from either her or Balboa would change her mind either, judging by the firm set to Sophie’s jaw and the hardness in her eyes.
Katie was not welcome. In Sophie’s eyes, she was still a whore.
She couldn’t look at Sophie, focusing on Balboa as she slipped from her chair. “She’s right. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Balboa. And yours, Balboa. The last thing I would want is to ruin your reputation.”
“Katie, wait—” Balboa’s chair toppled over backward as he leaped to his feet. “Sophie didn’t mean—”
“Really, it’s all right.” Now Katie looked over at Balboa’s wife. To Sophie’s credit, she did look somewhat embarrassed, not that it helped ease the shame still washing over Katie like boiling water. “I cannot believe what you’ve done here,” she said, looking from Sophie to Balboa. “You should be proud. And I won’t darken your doorway again. I promise to remain as far from Balboa’s doors as I possibly can.”
Before Balboa could offer up one more protest, Katie gathered her modest valises. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”
She hurried out the door, wincing as it slammed shut and the bell tinkled to mock her. People crowded the walkways, and she bumped into several as she hurried along, head down, eyes stinging with shameful tears. She felt numb, hopeless. Never in her wildest imaginings had she thought Balboa would turn her away. He was the one person upon whom she could always depend. Or so she had thought. Apparently, she was wrong.
No. That wasn’t entirely fair. He no longer had only himself to worry about, but his wife and their unborn child as well. Still, Katie didn’t think she’d ever forget how awful it had felt, hearing Sophie Balboa worry aloud about Katie’s presence sullying the tavern’s reputation once more. No one had ever made her feel so low, so silly to expect she might want to do anything other than sell her body. Those days were gone, far behind her. She would not go back to them, but as far as everyone else was concerned, she hadn’t changed a bit.
She rounded the corner and stepped into the cool shadows of the alley. Her nose wrinkled at the acrid stench of rotting food wafting from the far end. She’d become so accustomed to the cleanliness around Marchand Hall that she’d forgotten just how awful some things smelled. Here, people threw their garbage and other filth into such alleyways. Animals, especially stray dogs, roamed those dingy alleys, slinking along with their bony bodies practically flat against the rough stone buildings, with a mistrust in their eyes she knew far too well. Two mongrels skulked past her then, their eyes wide and suspicious, teeth bared at her as if they feared she might try to steal their meager scraps.
One dog paused, sniffed the air. He wasn’t as mangy as the other, his yellow fur matted from the early morning rain that pattered down. He didn’t seem as fearful as his companion. Perhaps he’d been someone’s pet and had become lost. He hadn’t learned to be afraid yet, from the looks of him.
Then a low growl rumbled from his throat, and he regarded Katie with dark eyes that held all of the world’s sadness in them. In her valise, wrapped in oilskin, was a small bit of bread she’d saved from breakfast. She dug it out and held the chunk out to the dog.
He inched closer, his eyes shifting from the bread to her and back. She moved, her hand raising slightly. The dog briefly cowered, then lunged to snatch the bread from her fingers and gulp
ed it down. Perhaps he was learning distrust after all. Another growl, and he hurried to join his companion. Little by little, the sounds died out. The dogs had moved on.
It probably wasn’t wise to remain here. Stray dogs roamed all over Jamaica, and some in rather large packs. She’d heard stories of people being attacked. Although she hated to part with the money, she had to find a room to let. Then she had to find work. There were so many taverns along the waterfront. One had to be in need of a barmaid.
* * * * *
Three hours later, she realized the folly of her thoughts. Although no one was quite as blunt as Sophie Balboa, there was not one tavern willing to hire her. She hadn’t realized just how small Kingston could be, until the last barkeep finally said, “Listen, girl, everyone remember you and ain’t no one going to take you on. You might want to think about goin’ over to Madame Zeta’s.” Then, as her cheeks burned with humiliation, he let out a bark of laughter. “I let you stay, iffen you open your legs for me. I don’ care if you poison.”
Poison.
Everyone saw her as poison.
She wanted to vomit. She couldn’t even muster up the indignation to tell him to go to hell. All she could do was square her shoulders and whirl about to stalk out of the tavern. Thankfully, she kept her composure until she was far away from the bastard and the crowds of people on the walkways. It wasn’t easy, but she managed.
Now, she stared out at the colorful array of flags flying high upon ships’ masts, snapping in the wind. So many ships from so many different places. At that moment, she wished she had enough money left over to sail somewhere else. But the trip from Bermuda had taken a healthy bite of her savings. She’d have to watch what remained, had to make it last as long as possible. She had no other source of income.
On its own, her gaze wandered toward the bright coral building on the far side of the harbor—almost directly across the cove from Balboa’s.
