The Last Honest Seamstress

by Gina Robinson

  She stood in the kitchen with a glass of water; the Captain’s voice from behind her made her start.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Fine." Her voice sounded squeaky. "Had a bad dream. Didn't mean to wake you. A glass of water always calms me."

  He drew up a chair at the table and motioned her into a seat across from him. "Very wise. Mam always brought me one when I was a child with a nightmare. Too bad we have to grow up and get our own." He studied her as she sipped. "Want to tell me about it?"

  She ran her finger around the rim of her glass, trying to hide her embarrassment. "It's so silly. Since the night of the fire, I've had this nightmare that I’m drowning. I thought I had it figured out. That it would go away. But I haven't been able to shake it yet."

  "You'll never drown as long as I'm here.” He grinned at her. “I have a big boat."

  She couldn't stop the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth, but she didn't speak. Instead, she watched him stare at her.

  A serious expression overtook his face. "I suspect you're feeling overwhelmed by all that's happened in the last week. I'm here to help you now. The burden isn't yours alone."

  She nodded. He hummed some nonsensical little syllables. Words she couldn't recognize.

  "What are you trying to sing?" The effects of her nightmare drifted off into the nebulous night, chased away by Con O'Neill's reassuring presence.

  "Trying? Are you saying I can’t carry a tune?” He laughed. “It's a little child's ditty about a yellow seaweed in Ireland. It's always been very comforting to me."

  "But you're not making any sense."

  "Sure, I am. You don't understand Gaelic is all."

  "And where did you learn it? On your travels?" She sipped her water.

  "With a name like Sheary O'Neill, are you kidding? At home, darling. At home. My mother used to sing it to me." She hadn't noticed his slight brogue before. Did he put in on just for her?

  "You don't have to sing to make me feel better. Just promise to take me to see my tent go up tomorrow."

  Con stopped singing and shook his head, giving off a little snorting laugh as he did. "That's my girl. You are feeling better. Your mind's back on business again."

  He reached across and patted her hand. "I give you my promise. Now off to bed with you. And me. We'll have to be up early to meet the crew, such as it is." He pushed back his chair and rose to leave.

  Fayth was slow to her feet. She watched him a moment before rising. "Thank you."

  He nodded. "Goodnight, Fayth."

  He walked out of the room down the dark hallway. She listened to his comforting footfalls until they receded, wondering about the man she married. Wondering that he so easily chased the dream away. Then she made her own way down the hall to bed humming a little tune about yellow seaweed.

  The next afternoon the house was quiet as Fayth swept in the front door, harried and late. She had stayed too long at Lou's. Tentatively, she called the Captain's name.

  "On the back porch, Fayth." His response startled her. She hurried to him.

  The picture he made on the porch as she came through the door returned her sense of serenity and well-being. He sprawled lazily in a chair, the very picture of handsome nonchalance. Olive curled in his lap. A package sat on the floor beside him.

  "Sorry I'm late. Mrs. Brown kept me longer than I intended."

  "Did she?"

  "Don't the two of you look comfortable?" She walked over and scratched Olive behind the ears. The cat climbed up the Captain's chest and dug her claws into his shirt as if to tell her not to think of extracting her. "Traitor!"

  "Me, or the cat?"

  "Both of you!" To Fayth's amazement, Olive and the Captain had made friends bare seconds after she had retrieved the cat from Elizabeth's.

  This after Fayth spent the better part of the morning before she brought Olive home warning the Captain to keep his distance. Olive distrusted men. She’d barely set Olive down when the Captain clucked to the cat. Olive ran to him as he knelt, curling herself around his legs and purring until he picked her up.

  "You have to know which men to trust. Can't let one man's mistreatment influence you against the whole lot." He held the cat up to lick his face.

  Fayth couldn't help feeling he was speaking to her, not Olive. That night, Olive abandoned Fayth's bed for the Captain's. Fayth still felt the sting of it.

  "If I didn't know where Mrs. Brown lived, I'd almost think she lost her entire wardrobe in the fire. She must be quite fashionable. She's been keeping you so busy it's like you're sewing for half a dozen ladies." His tone was too casual. He suspected something.

  Fayth dropped into a wicker chair opposite him. "You believe in honesty, don't you?”

  He tensed, and gave her an odd, expectant look. She didn't know exactly how to describe it. Guarded? Hopeful? When he looked at her that way, his hazel eyes appeared more green than brown and burned with an almost frightening inner intensity.

  When he didn't answer immediately, she spoke. "I do. What is a marriage without it?" She took a deep breath. "I have a confession to make."

  He looked poised for the worst.

  She plunged ahead before she lost her confidence. "There isn't any Mrs. Brown. I made her up. I've been sewing for the lady boarders at Miss Gramm's."

  He didn't waver under her expectant gaze.

  She clenched her hands in her lap and waited to be upbraided.

  "Don't look like you're bracing for a fight, Fayth. What are you expecting from me? Recrimination?" His tone was kind, almost amused.

  "I haven't known a man yet who would be happy to discover his wife works for a madam." As she spoke the corners of his mouth twitched, fighting laughter.

  "Depends on what she's doing for the madam. I admit, I have more cause than most husbands to be concerned. After all, my wife claims to be a seamstress, and we know what that usually means in this town. But I have the satisfaction of having seen you sew."

  Fayth was struck by the irony of his words, and not altogether certain he hadn't intended it. The Captain had seen her sew, but not sew, not in the manner of the prostitutes. Not like was a husband's right. She laughed nervously. "I, sir, am an honest seamstress. I promise."

  "Just so it stays that way." His laugh held a deep, baritone timbre. In the next moment he became nearly serious. "These lady boarders pay well, I assume?"

  "Yes, but that's not why I sew for them. I was coerced into it." She noted his confused expression, and the odd impression struck her that he looked almost guilty. "It's too long a story to tell now. Suffice it to say that I owe Miss Gramm a favor, as does half the town, I expect. As soon as it's repaid, I'm quitting."

  "Because of what, public opinion? Seems to me that designing their fancy dresses would be challenging and fun for someone with your talent. Don't quit, and don't apologize, Fayth. And don't think I'll stop you from doing what you love."

  "Thank you." She unclenched her hands, resting them lightly in her lap. "You are an amazing, perceptive, liberal-minded man. And I appreciate it. But it's not the opinion of others that matters to me, or stops me. It's that by her trade Miss Gramm encourages women to be victims. I can't condone the behavior of anyone who makes money through immoral means, especially flesh-peddling. I'm half ashamed that I have anything to do with her, but I have another interest there. A girl I've befriended. She may still be young enough to save."

  If she wasn't mistaken, he looked proud of her. "I hope you can. That's what I love about you, Fayth. You stand on your principles. You care about others. Is there anything I can do to help?"

  Love about you? Silly, she knew his words were light and careless, but her heart fluttered all the same. She smiled. "Not presently."

  His expression changed. He looked amused again, and slightly contrite as he changed the subject. "I have to admit to something myself. I knew there was no Mrs. Brown. Yesterday afternoon I stopped by the house you pointed out as hers, thinking to save her driver a trip taking you hom
e. You should have seen the look I got from the owner when I asked for you."

  "No! I never thought you would stop there!"

  They laughed together.

  "I'll have to use more care next time I concoct a deception."

  "Don't let there be a next time, Fayth," he teased.

  She blushed. "Of course not. What's in the package?" She pointed next to the chair.

  "A present for you." An eager anticipation filled his voice as he handed it to her and watched her open it. "A spyglass. Every sailor's wife should have one."

  She cradled it gently in her hands, staring at it, not knowing what to say. "Thank you. It's beautiful."

  He laughed. "Practical, at least. You'll be able to watch for me when I'm due home. Look for me there." He pointed through an opening in the evergreens and firs framing the view of Puget Sound in the distance. "I'll be sailing in from the north. You'll be able to recognize the Aurnia by the green and gold flag flying on the mast."

  He stood and pulled her to her feet, leading her to the rail of the cantilevered deck. "Give it a try."

  He stood behind her. Encircling her with his arms, he guided the glass to her eye. She felt oddly tremulous in the secure round of his embrace. His bearded chin rested just on top of her head as he held the glass in front for her. Taut biceps brushed against the outside of her arms. A firm chest braced her from behind. Flustered, she bobbled the spyglass, catching wild, fleeting glimpses of sky, trees, dirt, and blackberry bushes before he balanced it and directed it toward the water. Embarrassed, she let him hold it so he wouldn't see the trembling of her hands. A tiny speck became a paddle-wheel ferry, so clear she could nearly read the name lettered on the side.

  "Amazing," she said.

  He brought his head around next to hers so that his cheek grazed hers. "What do you see?"

  "Everything. A ferry. Whitecaps on the water. Seagulls flying."

  "Excellent." He lowered the glass from her eye and handed it back to her before stepping back.

  Her emotions and thoughts were as jumbled as the blackberry bushes that cascaded and tumbled down the hillside beneath them, so entwined she couldn't separate them. One minute the Captain seemed to be courting, giving her presents, finding excuses to hold her. The next, he stepped back, gentlemanly and uninterested.

  Her own emotions were even more tangled and dangerous. She didn't want to fall in love with this man. Where could it possibly lead? Her body might betray her, but her mind knew better—she was best off with him as her friend and partner. Loving him would inevitably hurt her.

  She turned to face him, forcing a trembling smile. "How long will you be gone?"

  "Two weeks, maybe three. It's hard to predict an exact schedule. Everything depends on the weather and number of stops we make."

  She looked at the spyglass in her hand and back to him. She had known, even counted on him being gone often. But his leaving had crept up on her. She just wasn't ready for it. Only because she would miss his advice and help, she tried to convince herself. But she knew better. "Promise me you'll be careful?" Her eyes misted. She dropped her gaze.

  "Naturally."

  She clasped the glass to her chest, thinking it was the best present she had ever received, and trembling with irrational fear. People she loved just didn't stay. They were either taken from her, or they ran off with someone else. If she let herself love him, which category would the Captain fit into?

  Fayth stood on the waterfront, which teemed with people and activity. The Captain's pier was still just reconstructed pilings with a framework as open and delicate looking as a spider's web stretching out over open water. He'd have to dock to the north. Fayth bet on Schwabacher's and headed directly there. If she was wrong, she'd find him. All the remaining wharves were in sight of each other.

  The undamaged wharves were doing two to three times the business they were designed to handle. Goods and rebuilding supplies streamed into the city. Fayth wove through the throng of people, mostly men loading and unloading cargo, arriving at the pier just in time to see the Aurnia pull in.

  Before leaving the house, Fayth had changed into her newest walking gown. The bodice was cut low in a square outline, the sleeves short and puffed. She wore no jacket; the day was too warm, which suited her. The dress was more becoming without one and she wanted to look pretty for the Captain.

  The Aurnia's crew lowered the gangplank. Fayth breathed deeply and watched the deck. She couldn't see the Captain. Patience. He'd be out soon enough. There was a commotion on deck. The wheelhouse door flew open. Fayth swept her arm up to wave to him. He wasn't expecting her; she wanted him to spot her in the activity onshore. Fayth froze. The Captain didn't emerge from his quarters behind the wheelhouse; a woman carrying a duffel did.

  Fayth's stomach fell. Her heart thudded hard in her ears. She dropped her arm. The woman, immaculately dressed and coifed, looked cultured, if a bit hard. She turned back to yell something into the cabin. When she faced the pier, she was smiling and laughing.

  Fool, Fayth chided herself. How could she have been so naive! Fayth felt flushed, ashamed. With one hand, she clutched her stomach. Her stays felt suddenly too tight. With the other she pulled at the neckline of her bodice, absently trying to draw the sides together to cover her bosom, or her naked emotion. She didn't know which felt more exposed. She took a deep breath and turned away, hung her head. Tears stung. She blinked them back.

  Shocked, her mind worked in short, indifferent bursts. What had she thought? That he would be any different than any other handsome man? Blast! Anger, familiar and harsh, welled up inside her. She had warned him to be discreet. When she turned back to look, the woman descended the gangplank and merged with the crowd on the pier. Fayth half turned to leave, then stopped. She wouldn't go. No running, not this time. She'd come to greet him and show him the new construction, and she would.

  "Ma'am, ma'am." It took Fayth a second to realize someone, the woman, spoke to her.

  Fayth turned to face her. Up close the woman looked young, and heavily highlighted with rouge. "Yes?"

  "You look like a friendly face." The woman's sweet voice grated on Fayth. "We arrived early and my ride isn't here to meet me. Is it possible to hire a cab from here?"

  "There. That way." Fayth pointed, stubbornly refusing to speak one unnecessary word to the creature. Wanted to claw her. "You can catch one on the street."

  "Thank you. I knew you could tell me." The woman winked.

  Sudden curiosity overwhelmed Fayth. She ignored the woman's innuendo. She had to know her destination. "Wait. Where are you headed? I might be able to give you directions. You may be able to walk there."

  The woman laughed huskily. "With the trunks I brought? Oh, honey, I don't think so. Miss Gramm's is certainly too far away."

  A whore. Fayth had thought, a mistress maybe, but a whore!

  And then she hoped . . .

  Well, she was a fool. Was this the Captain's idea of discretion, a whore at sea? She took another deep breath. He had hurriedly scuttled the woman off the ship first. No one they knew had seen her, no one but Fayth. It was his business. Now she would attend to hers. As she waited for him, she forced a smile, which felt as painted as the ones on the porcelain dolls of her childhood.

  Con finished the log, grabbed the packages he'd brought back for Fayth, and headed for the deck. He was halfway down the gangplank when he spotted her coming toward him. She'd come to meet him. Was he grinning like a monkey?

  "Fayth! How did you know to meet me?" He wanted to kiss her, but she held herself back from him. For now he'd have to content himself with the sight of her.

  "Oh, I don't know." She smiled coyly. "My husband gave me a spyglass. I was just admiring the Sound."

  "No!" She had watched for him? He barely allowed himself to imagine it possible.

  She shrugged and laughed, perhaps a bit too brightly. "What are the odds I'd be watching as you sailed in? I was about to leave for town when I saw the green and gold. So I came to mee
t you, thinking you might like to see the progress that's been made since you left."

  "And I'm glad you did."

  "The carriage is parked up the street. Can you leave now, or should I come back?"

  "Now's fine. How are things?"

  "The pier framework is built, and my first story framed. I'll drive you by," she said. "And you'll be happy to hear that I've been getting more and more female clients. They keep me so enjoyably busy, I've done very little tailoring for men during your absence."

  "I'm glad to hear you're happy. I can see it on your face. You look beautiful, Fayth." Was it his imagination, or did she frown slightly?

  "Thank you." She held out her arms to him. "Let me help you with those packages."

  "No, certainly not. A gentleman never lets a lady carry things for him."

  "Are you a gentleman?" Her question sounded almost barbed. Had he done something wrong? He gave himself a mental shake. Her smile was still sweet, and her expression pleasant. What could he have done in such a short time? An image of Lou's latest whore came to mind. Had Fayth seen her come off the ship? He couldn't force himself to ask.

  "I'm the well-mannered man my mother taught me to be. How long have you been waiting?"

  "I haven't." She started walking, evidently expecting him to fall into pace with her. "I just arrived. You were docked with your gangplank down when I came up. Your men were so efficient they were already unloading."

  She couldn't have seen anything. He must be imagining.

  "What's in the packages?" She negotiated through the crowd and headed up the street.

  "Presents for you."

  She gave him a startled look. "You shouldn't have. Your coming home safely is present enough."

  Did she toy with him? As if she read his mind, she winked. "I need your business expertise, and your clout with the city council. They're up to their usual shenanigans."

  At home later, Fayth sat across from the Captain as he unloaded many packages with her name on them. Somehow she had managed to remain calm, to quell her jealousy, throughout the afternoon as he examined the new buildings. Now, her mouth ached from smiling, her heart from other causes. Here, in her own home, she felt more normal, less threatened. But her thoughts kept returning to the woman. Little thoughts niggled at her, making no sense. The Captain had seemed so happy to see Fayth.