by Anna Small
She got out of bed and pulled on her muslin work dress and slipped into her leather shoes. The room on the other side of her curtain was quiet. Mr. Smith was probably outside. Relieved she wouldn’t have to see him so soon yet looking forward to the moment, she walked to the kitchen. The sun streaked through the window with the promise of a clear day. She poured herself a cup of the hot coffee and blew on it before taking a hesitant sip. It was surprisingly good, despite the bitter quality of the beans. She had no sugar to sweeten it. That had gone long before Caleb went to sea.
Mr. Smith entered the house with the fresh ocean breeze wafting in around him.
“Good morning, Mrs. Quinn.” He tipped an imaginary hat with a jaunty gesture.
His voice awakened a memory, but she couldn’t quite place what it was. She shook off the feeling and nodded.
“Good morning. Thank you for the coffee.”
“My pleasure. You should think about keeping chickens. I looked at your coop. It shouldn’t be too hard to make some repairs. I can do those for you, if you’d like.”
“How kind. But you need not trouble yourself.”
He stood beside her, and she craned her neck to look up at him. Before she could stop him, he took her hand and held it tightly.
“Dear lady, I owe you my life. Had you not found me on the beach, I would have surely died. Repairing your chicken coop is the very least I may do.”
“You do not owe me anything.”
“I am honored to be in your debt.”
She was unable to tear her gaze from him. The familiar feeling returned, especially as she caught his scent, masculine and fresh, the same scent that lingered about her. She knew, then, that he was part of her wonderful dream. She was about to take her hand from his, but realized she didn’t want to. It had been so long since she’d felt a man’s hand like this. And not Elias’s hand holding hers as they walked to the cottage. That was a completely different feeling.
The door rattled with a brisk knock.
“Abigail? Are you home?” A man called from the opposite side.
She stiffened and withdrew her hand.
“That’s Leon.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He must not see you. Hide in my room.”
“Who…?” He stumbled over the curled edge of the rug as she shoved him toward the bedroom.
“I’ll explain later.” Panic made her noisy, clumsy. She pulled the curtain to close off the room but he caught her wrist.
“You’re frightened. Who is he?”
She gulped back her fear, which felt like a crust of bread was stuck in her throat.
“Caleb’s brother. He’s not a nice man. I’ll try to get rid of him.”
Samuel didn’t look as if he cared if Leon were a nice man or not. He stared at the front door, his jaw set as if he were preparing to fight. She pressed her hand to his chest to restrain him. He glanced down at her hand and then into her eyes.
His look reaffirmed her suspicions about her dream. She wished they had time to talk, but Leon would not be put off.
He held her hand to his lips.
“I’ll be ready in case there’s trouble.”
“Just…just stay quiet.”
She waited until he pulled the curtain securely behind him before going to the door. Her stomach tied itself into a giant knot. She’d forgotten about Leon. He usually stopped in for a cup of coffee on his way to the coast for some fishing. Every time was the same; he made unwelcome advances which she deflected with forced humor, pretending she was so locked in her grief she couldn’t possibly consider another husband at the moment. Her playacting would only take her so far. If not for any other reason than to dissuade Leon, perhaps she should consider living with her brother’s family.
Her hand trembled as she opened the door, but this time, she blocked the room with her body. Mr. Smith’s presence gave her new courage.
“Good morning, Leon. I’m afraid I can’t have a visitor today. I’m not feeling very well.”
“I won’t be long.” As if she had not spoken, he pushed past her and strode to the hearth where he poured himself a cup of coffee. Sitting in the only comfortable chair that had been Caleb’s, he propped his feet on a stool and leaned back as if he belonged there.
Heart pounding, Abigail closed the door but just lightly enough that the latch wouldn’t stick. Leon could be aggressive, and she wanted an escape route should the need arise. She lingered over the frayed hem on the curtain by the window before facing him.
“Umm. Good coffee.” He leered at her from beneath his long, black lashes, so like Caleb’s, but that was where their similarities ended. “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten your homemaking skills. You might need them for a new husband one day.”
“Forgive me.” Her voice was breathy and higher pitched than normal. “I cannot be a good hostess. Please, finish your coffee before you leave. Perhaps I’ll feel better in a few days.”
He ignored her.
“You know why I’m here.” His voice hung in the air. The words were simple enough, but the tone was decidedly more complex. And infinitely more dangerous.
Gulping back the lump in her throat, she shrugged.
“I assume it’s to pay a friendly visit to your brother’s widow.” Perhaps if she kept Caleb at the forefront of the conversation, guilt would set in and he would leave her alone.
He swung his legs from the stool and thumped the cup down on the table.
“My brother was a fool for leaving you and chasing dreams of war and glory. I told him a hundred times if I told him once—you were not the kind of woman to languish long after a man.”
She gripped the back of a chair, which she kept between Leon and herself. She longed to dart a glance at her bedroom but didn’t want to alert Leon. While Samuel—Mr. Smith, she mentally corrected herself—was a strong man, Leon was a brute and had a nasty but deserved reputation as the town brawler. Besides, it wouldn’t help Mr. Smith’s cause if Leon discovered him.
He left the hearth and crossed the small kitchen to stand before her. A swift kick of his foot pushed the chair away. Two big hands gripped her shoulders, heavy and strong, so she was unable to move without appearing to struggle.
“I want an answer, girl.”
“I…I cannot marry you,” she stammered, wishing she had enough courage to bring her knee up and get him where it could do the most damage.
“I ain’t talking about marriage. Don’t pretend you don’t have needs, Abby. Every widow does. Especially you.”
His gaze lingered over her face and dropped to her throat. She wished she’d worn her woolen dress that buttoned up to her chin, but the warmer weather called for something lighter, and her sky blue calico dress had a lower collar. She shrugged out of his reach, but he caught her arms. It wasn’t like being touched by Mr. Smith. Or, God knew, by Caleb. Leon’s hands were claws, grasping and seizing at her as if he were an odious sea creature.
“Caleb told me you were a wild one. He said you liked it rough.”
He jerked her to him, and she gasped aloud, stifling a scream but knowing Mr. Smith had heard every word. His arms went around her, and she felt every sickening bulge and lump of his body through her dress. Before he could kiss her, she turned her head at the last minute, eyes wide enough to see the black blur of her skillet slicing the air before meeting the back of Leon’s head. Instead of being knocked unconscious, he only became angrier.
He shoved her away and turned to face his attacker. She watched as Leon’s face darkened with surprise and rage.
“Who the hell are you? What is this, Abby? You cheatin’ on my brother?”
She stood against the back of the door, her fingers grasping for the latch. Maybe she could open it, and Mr. Smith could shove Leon out of the cottage.
“Get the hell out of this house.” Mr. Smith’s breath came short and fast. He gripped his bad side.
Leon looked from one to the other, his expression almost comical if Abigail didn’t know how much trouble this woul
d mean for them both.
“Who are you, a limey scum?” Leon pushed up his sleeves, revealing forearms the size and heft of ham hocks. “Did you sneak across the border with that Tory sympathizer, Watkins? What have you been doing behind my back, Abby?” He glanced at her quickly and then back to Mr. Smith, as if he were worried the man would attack him again.
“Mrs. Quinn, do not speak to him.”
Mr. Smith’s eyes darkened like the sea after a storm—gray and dangerous. He dropped the skillet on the table and reached behind him as Leon growled and lumbered toward him. In a move so swift and skilled Abigail hardly had time to notice how he did it, Mr. Smith flashed Caleb’s musket at her brother-in-law. “I will give you one more chance, Mr. Quinn, and then I will put a lead ball through that rotund gut of yours.”
Leon stopped in his tracks, his right foot hovering over the floor before he could place it down.
“You’re going to shoot me with my own brother’s gun?”
Mr. Smith pointed it at Leon’s chest. “That is precisely what I’m going to do.”
An expression between rage and disbelief contorted Leon’s features. He raised his hands stiffly, as if he had never surrendered before and was unsure of the procedure.
“All right, all right! I’ll go.”
He headed for the door. Abigail cleared out of his way so he wouldn’t brush by her as he passed. He clapped his hat on his head and stood in the entrance, the bright afternoon sun shining behind him. His cracked front tooth gleamed as he turned leering eyes upon her.
“Consorting with the enemy, are we? You play the grieving widow to the world, but we both know what you are. You’ll hang, girl. You and your limey lover.”
He slammed the door behind him, and she hurried to lock it. She hesitated before turning around and facing her protector. Worse than Leon’s words—his wicked, terrible words—was the threat of doom.
“Mr. Smith, I…I’m so sorry.” She forgot her shame a second later when she caught his sympathetic gaze.
“I have put you in danger, Mrs. Quinn.” He shook his head, his jaw tense. “You must understand I could not stand by while that…that blackguard molested you.”
“I am not concerned about my own welfare, but yours.” She blinked back tears and drew a strangled breath. Her chest constricted, as if she were being squeezed by invisible bands.
“Are you all right?”
She began to nod and stopped. All the pent-up frustration and despair she’d felt since Caleb sailed away flooded her senses. She gripped the table edge and leaned into it. His shoes scuffed the floor as he crossed the room, his presence both welcome and alarming. He didn’t touch her, but she felt his closeness just as if he had. A shiver tickled down the back of her spine, but whether it was from a sense of foreboding or anticipation, she couldn’t tell.
“I do not know what to do.” She hung her head, still afraid to look at him. She couldn’t bear seeing his disgust from Leon’s accusations.
Instead of recoiling, he covered her hand in a firm grip.
“His words are worth even less than the man himself. My only fear is I have put you in danger. I must leave immediately. He will tell others. You can always say I forced you to help me.”
“Leon is loud and boasting. No one will believe him. He was angry because I have always refused his vulgar advances. When Caleb was alive, Leon was constantly going behind his back and…and saying such foul things.”
A flicker of his eyelids showed he realized at the same time she did that she had spoken of Caleb in the past tense. She couldn’t take it back. She expected a rush of guilt. Instead, a feeling of release washed through her as if she’d physically removed the burden she’d carried for so long.
His hand squeezed hers. “You have no protection here. Your brother is right. You should live with him and his family. It’s too dangerous.”
“Thank you for your concern, but I…I cannot leave.”
Her vision blurred. The weight of his hand was the only tangible thing left in the world. She dragged her gaze slowly from the table and looked up at him. She should say something; perhaps explain why living with her brother and his wife would be a daily agony. Their close and loving relationship would be unbearable to witness when she was so alone. As she struggled to put her feelings into words, a thin red line of blood trickled down the side of his face. He must have disturbed his wound when he came after Leon. Without thinking, she raised her free hand to touch his head. He pulled her into his arms in a silent, fluid movement.
If the floor had suddenly moved beneath her as from an earthquake, she could not have felt more shaken. He didn’t kiss her. She didn’t know if she was more fearful or hopeful for a kiss. The truth shocked her, but she needn’t have worried. A kiss didn’t come. Instead, he held her against his shoulder, and she realized she was crying. She cried for the husband who would never return and for the man who was about to leave. Both were gone already, though Samuel’s arms around her were solid, and the steady heartbeat against her cheek was real.
The idea of his leaving struck her to the core of her loneliness. The despair Caleb’s absence caused had diminished since Samuel’s arrival, what seemed ages ago but had only been mere days. The expectation she would spend the rest of her life alone didn’t seem so set anymore. New feelings of hope and never-before-dreamed-of happiness had gradually filtered through the dim fog of depression.
It was wrong to replace Caleb with another man. Instead of wishing Samuel would stay, she should be grateful he would soon be gone. He had to go. Of course, he had to go. In real life, a handsome stranger didn’t ride into a woman’s life like a knight of old, sword drawn, ready to rescue her. He had his own life waiting for him. A wife and family like as not. How could a man like him not be married? She should be happy for the few days they’d shared, and leave it at that.
Her tears subsided as quickly as they’d started. She should step away and put as much distance between them as possible, but had no strength. She squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled the underlying scent of him beneath her husband’s shirt.
His breathing quickened. His hands had been immobile on her back, and now slid restlessly across her shoulders. The prelude to a kiss.
She roused herself from her dream and broke their embrace.
“We should go to my brother. I’m sure he’ll help us.” In truth, she didn’t know how Elias could help. Indeed, he might assume the worst of her association with Samuel as Leon had. But there was no other choice.
He seemed to mull over her words and balanced his hands on his hips. Finally, he nodded.
“As you see best.” His lips quavered into a smile. “I will never forget you, Abigail. I mean, Mrs. Quinn.”
She twisted the folds of her apron to hide her trembling hands. The ticking clock and the blood rushing through her ears were the only sounds she heard. He would be gone soon, as quickly as he had arrived. She didn’t know how she would return to her empty cottage without him.
She felt her lips move as they formed a word. And then she heard herself whisper, “Samuel.”
His gaze burned through her.
“Abby, I would stay if I could. God help me, but I would.”
How strange to hear her name on his lips. Her throat tightened, which prevented her from speaking, even had she been able to find the words. When she didn’t respond, he quietly went outside. The emptiness of the cottage consumed her. No sounds of children playing would ever fill the silence. She would grow old in the cottage. Old and alone, and she had only herself to blame. Caleb wouldn’t want her to end up like that.
She stared out the window. The sun set in a fireball of riotous color, flooding the sky in streaks of orange spreading into dark pink and purple. The ocean lay beneath it all, calm and benevolent after the raging storm a few days before. How many times had she looked out this window for a sign of Caleb’s ship coming into the cove? How many more times would she stand here again, watching for a sign of Samuel?
S
he couldn’t bear the silence any longer. Unaware of what she was doing, but feeling drawn by her heart instead of her head, she followed him outside.
He stood silhouetted against the changing sky. The dying sun glinted off his hair, turning the dark strands into molten silver. Caleb’s clothes hung on his frame the exact way they had on their original owner, only Samuel seemed broader, taller. She didn’t know if it was fact or if her memory had abandoned her with the rest of her reason.
He turned and watched in silence as she ran down the path toward him. The broken shells crunched beneath her feet with every step, but she barely felt them. All she knew was what waited at the end.
He caught her before she toppled into him, grabbing her close and lifting her off the ground to hug her to his chest. Her arms tightened around his neck, so hard he gasped into her ear. His mouth, hard and soft at the same time, pressed against hers until she couldn’t breathe. Or maybe she’d forgotten how to breathe. She replied to his unspoken question with a passionate kiss. Her fingers raked his hair, squeezing and tugging and finally releasing him when she felt the ground beneath her feet and regained consciousness from her dreamlike state.
His eyes reflected the sun within their sea-blue depths. This is what the Caribbean Sea and all the exotic waters of the world must look like. She could drown in his eyes. In his arms. Shadows lined his face, making him appear older than centuries one second and young as a boy the next. He took a breath and looked as if he would speak, but was silent for a few moments as he gazed down at her.
“I don’t want to make this harder for either of us, Abby. Better that I leave now, before…”
He uttered a sound torn between her name and a groan. He pulled her to him, clutching at her as if she were the lifeline taking him in to shore. She matched his desperate kisses, holding him as closely as she could, but it was not enough. It would never be enough. A few kisses and heartfelt embraces could not sustain her after he was gone.
