by ML Gardner
“Do you know yet?” he asked in a whisper before planting a small, neat row of pecks over her ear and down her cheek.
“No. If I did, I would have told you.”
“Should you go to a doctor? He might could tell you for certain.”
“Why would I pay a doctor to tell me what I can find out for free if I just wait awhile longer? Besides, I’m only two weeks late.”
“Would you be happy?” he asked. She was quiet, thinking deeply before answering.
“I think I would.”
“You think?”
“It’s a lot to consider, another babe is. Would you be happy?”
He couldn’t help but smile and didn’t hesitate. “I would.”
July 27th 1930
Jonathan picked Maura up just after lunch, a smuggled bottle of whiskey under the seat. They drove several miles north, ending up on a sandy pullout near the ocean. He walked around to open her door and, with whisky bottle in hand, led the way down to a massive chunk of driftwood. It might look something like a date, to someone who didn’t know any better.
“Ava wasn’t happy that I was coming to see you alone today,” he said with a laugh. The sound was drowned out by a large flock of seagulls, squawking loudly overhead. Maura covered her head instinctively. It was hot already and she kicked off her shoes, digging her feet in the sand until she found the cool layer underneath.
Jonathan didn’t waste any time getting to the point. “I’m worried about Caleb,” he said. “He drinks every day. All day. When he isn’t working on the boat with me he spends his time in the barn. Drinking. With the goat. Patrick takes care of most of the farm business, and Arianna and Shannon have their hands full between the babies and the house. Caleb is just…lost.”
“I was worried about that,” she said and held her hand out for the bottle parked at Jonathan’s side. “That he would blame himself for Aryl’s death and hate himself for surviving.”
“I don’t understand that. I would be so grateful to come home to Ava, so happy to be alive–”
“You were not there, Mr. Jonathan. You have no idea how you would feel, had you been though all that.”
He lowered his head at her reprimand.
“You and Caleb are very different people. Opposite ends of the spectrum, really. And I have worried for some time that your friendship would suffer without Aryl there to balance the two of you out, and help you meet in the middle.”
A small pain shot through Jonathan’s heart. Aryl was always in the middle.
“That doesn’t mean that you can’t help him through this.”
“I have no idea how, Maura. I was hoping you could try to…”
“Aye, I know what ye hoped for. And I’ll do my best. But he still needs a man friend to confide in.”
July 30th 1930
Just before dinner, Vincent knocked on the door. Jonathan Sr. answered it and welcomed him in.
“I’m here to see Jon Jr.,” he said as he stepped inside and removed his hat. Jonathan came into the living room followed closely by Ava.
“Is everything alright?” she asked nervously.
“Everything is fine, ma’am.” He turned to Jonathan. “I looked into that lead, like you asked me to.”
Jonathan’s eyes flickered to Ava and he motioned for Vincent to move out onto the porch to talk. Closing the door behind him, they walked a few paces out into the yard.
“What did you find out?”
“Well, I can tell you that Victor Drayton wasn’t here in Rockport the day of the explosion.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, I spoke to the police department in New York City. They were very familiar with Mr. Drayton and most helpful in providing what information they could. Apparently, they are able to confirm his whereabouts because right about the same time that your boat exploded, his wife was abducted and murdered.”
Jonathan’s eyes were wide with shock. “Ruth is dead?” he asked.
“The police are calling it a homicide. They never found a body, but they found enough to declare her dead.”
Jonathan grimaced. “Where was Victor when Ruth was killed?”
“Mr. Drayton has produced a stamped ticket to and from Florida and a ticket agent who identified him as boarding the train the day before both events.”
“You don’t think it’s strange that he was out of town when Ruth was killed and my boat blew up?”
“Well, now, actually I do. And so do the police in New York. But there isn’t much anyone can do with an alibi as solid as a punched ticket and a witness.”
“A witness on this end or in Florida?”
“In New York.”
“How easy would it be to get on the train, walk a few cars back and get off again?”
“Well, apparently the police in New York think this stinks to high heaven. They tend to think that if Mr. Drayton didn’t kill his wife himself, then he may have hired someone to do it for him. Which will be even harder to prove. But they were interested to hear from me. The detective did some looking into the train schedules and got back with me about an hour ago. I wasn’t going to say anything, but…”
Jonathan shifted his weight impatiently. “But what?”
“There was another train leaving within ten minutes of Mr. Drayton’s. Bound for Boston.”
“Do you think he was on that train instead?”
“Impossible to say. They have him under surveillance though. They smell foul play, at least with his wife.” Vincent shrugged. The detective in New York had told him more regarding Victor’s personality, his cunning, deceitful ways and the fact that he was almost always surrounded by controversy; this would be nothing new to Jonathan.
“I appreciate you looking into it,” Jonathan said.
“I’m sorry this probably doesn’t help ease your mind.”
“Actually, in a way, it does. At least I know he’s being watched.”
Feeling watched himself, he turned to see Ava in the window; arms crossed tightly.
“Well, I better get back in there and explain,” he said, running his hand through his hair with a sigh. “Thank you for looking into this. I know your busy.”
“Well, actually, I’ve got a bit of help now. New deputy just arrived. It was somewhat of a surprise, but after that big bust last month–”
“What big bust? I knew about the string of robberies, but you caught that guy, right?”
“Well, no. But they stopped kind of suddenly none the less. But it was pokin’ around trying to get to the bottom of those robberies that lead me to a good sized operation right here in Rockport. Right under our noses.”
“Runners?”
“Not just bathtub gin, Jon. Opiates. Coming in by rail and boat. So, to keep that sort of thing at bay, they sent me another deputy. ”
“They sent him? That’s not the usual procedure, is it?”
“No, but I guess this is extenuating circumstances. Gotta keep this sort of thing under control. In any case, his name is Marvin, if you see him around, be sure and give him a welcome, will you?”
“Sure thing. Thanks, Vincent.”
He lumbered back into the house absorbing the news of Ruth’s death, and not looking forward to filling Ava in on his suspicions.
Walking into the house, her eyes were pinned on him and he nodded toward the couch. “Sit. I’ll explain everything. Mom, Dad, you better come in here, too.”
His parents, Margaret and Jonathan Sr. walked in quietly and sat across from them.
“Alright. You are all aware that I haven’t been convinced that what happened to Aryl wasn’t an accident. I asked the sheriff to look into a possible lead and that’s what he was here talking to me about.”
“What lead, son?” Jonathan Sr. asked.
He took Ava’s hand and held it on his lap. “I think that this might have been personal. I think it was supposed to be me, and–”
Ava gasped with wide eyes. He decided to stop beating around the bush.
“I asked Sheriff Vincent to find out what he could about Victor. I think he might have had something to do with this.”
Ava froze, staring at him. “Did he?” she whispered.
“We’re not sure. He’s provided proof he was somewhere else when it happened and when Ruth...”
“When Ruth what?” Ava asked. Jonathan didn’t realize until that moment that news of her death had had any effect on him and he felt twinges of grief. He had known her, after all; they had spent a good amount together and even though he didn’t love her, he had cared for her.
“Ruth is dead,” he said quietly.
“How?”
He shrugged one shoulder lightly. “They aren’t sure. She disappeared and they found some of her things. The police in New York are treating it like a homicide.”
“Do they suspect Victor?”
He nodded.
“Do they think he had anything to do with the explosions on the boat?”
“They don’t know. If he had any involvement he covered his tracks well.” He looked over at Ava, who had held herself together much better than Jonathan expected.
“He’s being watched. He won’t be able to get anywhere near here without the police knowing about it.”
She sat holding on to his hand, looking unconvinced.
Jonathan Sr. stood and nodded his head for Jonathan to follow him upstairs.
Walking to his bedroom closet, he dug around in the back and pulled out a wooden box. He set it on the bed and opened the lid, revealing two handguns. He picked one up and made sure it was loaded before handing it to Jonathan.
“I know this Victor character is being watched, but I’d feel better if these were kept handy.”
Jonathan took a step back. “I don’t know, Dad. With Jean around and all, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Jonathan.” His father took a few steps toward him and spoke low in his ear. “If this guy wanted you dead, as soon as he finds out that you aren’t, he’ll be back.” Mirroring dark blue eyes stared insistently and he pressed the gun into Jonathan’s hand. He took it reluctantly with a heavy sigh.
“Teach Jean,” he said and left the room.
Jonathan slipped the gun under the mattress before returning downstairs.
July 31st 1930
Maura fussed about the kitchen, mumbling to herself and occasionally yelling for Ian to fetch something.
“You’d think it was Christmas dinner the way yer runnin’ about, Maura.”
“Hush up, Ian and grab me that platter out the cabinet. It’s on the top shelf.”
He held it out to her, then jerked it back with raised eyebrows and puckered lips. Maura was less than amused. She gave him a quick peck and yanked the platter from him with a hard glare. The platter slipped from her hand as she spun around and landed on the floor with a great crash, sending shards of white ceramic in all directions.
Maura sucked in her breath and let it out with a long stream of language that made Ian shrink back out of the kitchen. When she finished, he poked his head in delicately.
“Can I help ye clean it up?”
She opened her eyes and nodded, holding the broom out to him and turned back to the stove.
“What’s the big occasion?” Claire asked as she gingerly stepped over bits of the broken platter.
“We’re havin’ Gordon over fer dinner,” Maura said simply.
Claire glanced over the homemade bread, colorful salad and savory casserole that used preciously rationed meat.
“And why is that a big deal?”
“It just is, my dear. Now go clean up and put on a nice dress. An’ it wouldn’t hurt to put a curl to yer hair and find some lipstick.”
Claire raised her eyebrows at Maura. “And just why would I need to do that on a plain old boring Thursday night?” she asked.
“Because Mr. Gordon is a clean, educated man. You don’t want him getting the wrong idea of us, now do you?”
“What in heaven’s name does his being clean and educated have to do with my appearance?” Claire asked.
Maura spun around exasperated and pointed toward the stairs.
“Go!” she yelled. Claire huffed her breath and narrowed her eyes, but went, slamming the bathroom door behind her.
“Stubborn girl,” Maura commented under her breath.
“Are ye sure ye aren’t pushin’ things just a little too quickly, Maura?”
“Don’t start wi’ me, Ian. Help me find another platter.”
∞∞∞
When Gordon rang the doorbell at six o’clock, Maura scrubbed her face of irritation and put on a smile. Ian shook his hand very tightly and stepped a little too close in order to make one final statement with his eyes, regarding his Maura.
Gordon nodded a masculine understanding before he glanced around the room, Ian assumed, looking for Claire.
“She’ll be down shortly,” he said with a slight grin. Maura pulled him past Ian by the elbow, pushing a cold glass of lemonade in his hands and organizing him in a chair in the living room.
“Claire, we have company!” Maura yelled in the direction of the stairs. A stomp and a door slam was her answer. Maura excused herself to Gordon and headed up the stairs.
Ian sat across from Gordon and grappled uncomfortably for conversation. They talked of mundane and polite things for a few minutes before Gordon spoke freely.
“I’ve no interest in Maura,” he said suddenly. “In case that’s what you were thinking.”
Ian smiled and sat back. He didn’t truly see Gordon as a threat upon his territory. He was mild mannered and gentle, calm and lighthearted.
“It had crossed my mind. But that’s good to know. Sometimes folks–men folks in particular, tend to take her kindness the wrong way.”
Gordon relaxed a little and eased back into the seat. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think that I could handle one like her,” he said with a smile.
“She’s one to be reckoned with, that’s fer sure. But she always keeps things interesting.”
“I have to tell you, Ian, I debated even coming tonight, but curiosity got the best of me.” Ian’s eyes questioned as Gordon smiled knowingly. “Do you want to tell me what plans the woman has for me?”
Ian returned his amused smile.
“I guess I should give ye fair warning. Though she’d kill me if she knew.”
“I won’t say a word,” Gordon promised.
“Well, I think she has it in mind to play matchmaker.”
“Ah. I see. And who does she want to match me with?” he asked with an entertained grin.
“Claire.”
Gordon’s face straightened and he adjusted in his seat. Ian sensed his sudden apprehension.
“Who else?” he asked.
“Well, honestly, I thought maybe she had me in mind for her niece, Tarin. And she’s a nice girl and all, don’t get me wrong. She’s beautiful. But, well…she’s a bit young.”
“So does that make it better or worse then? Knowing it’s Claire she’s trying to match you with and not Tarin.”
“I’m not sure.” He sat stiff, more nervous than uncomfortable.
“There are some things you should know, Gordon, just so it’s fair on ye, because Maura won’t say a word about it up front.” He nodded for Ian to continue. “Claire is a widow. Her husband died at sea not even two months ago.”
Gordon’s eyes flashed up to Ian. “I knew she was a widow, even before Jonathan Garrett told me when he set up her deliveries. I’d heard. She can’t be anywhere near ready!”
“An’ she wi’ child.”
Gordon froze, staring at the floor in front of him.
“Maura tells me you’re a widower.”
Gordon nodded. “Yes, but it’s been two years since…”
“I think Maura sees kindred spirits and an understanding of the loss. She sees ye bein’ good for each other in that way.”
“Well, there’s that.”
“But the child change
s things, doesn’t it?”
Gordon took a long time to answer. Finally, he shrugged. “Not for reasons you think,” he said and looked toward the base of the stairs where he had last seen Claire.
∞∞∞
Claire was defensive and quiet at dinner, having been nearly physically dragged downstairs. Maura had placed her and Gordon beside each other, with Tarin and Scottie across from them, while she and Ian sat at the heads of the table.
Tarin glanced at Gordon frequently with admiration, looking away flushed and embarrassed when his eyes met hers. Maura kicked her under the table and gave her a growling scowl.
Maura had to work harder on keeping the conversation going than she had worked on dinner, and her exasperation was becoming obvious.
“So, Gordon, tell us about yer milk business,” Ian said. A grateful Maura smiled at him.
“Well, it’s a family business. It was my grandfather’s and then my father’s before it was passed on to me. Small operation, but it pays the bills.”
“Do ye run it alone then?”
“Well, yes. My wife helped before she...” He stopped and cleared his throat, noticing Claire sitting very still, staring at her food. “Before she died.”
Claire let out a small breath and shifted uncomfortably before shooting a look of hatred at Maura.
“She died in childbirth. Two years ago,” he offered.
“I’m so sorry for yer loss,” Maura said. “Ye don’t have to talk about it if ye don’t want to.”
“No, it’s fine. It was hard at first, but…well, time heals. Every day gets just a bit easier,” he said and glanced at Claire, who kept her head down and remained silent. “Took a few months to really start to think about living again. I didn’t do much in the time before that but grieve. I think I started to get sick of it, crying and being angry all the time. One day I left my house and walked for several hours along the beach. I realized I loved, and hated, being alone. I discovered that what had gotten to me the most, I think, what was driving me insane, was the loneliness. I was really tired of that, and yet, all I wanted was to be left alone. That took a few more months to work through. I forced myself to go to friends’ houses and invite people over to mine. Even though I wanted to crawl out of my skin the whole time, until they left.” He laughed and it broke the silent spell that had come over the table; even Scottie had stopped eating, as he listened intently to Gordon talk. “It’s easier now,” he assured and smiled over at Ian, in order to take a side glance at Claire. A tear slipped off her nose onto the blue tablecloth.
