Night Winds

by Gwyneth Atlee

  She followed King into the customer sitting area, a room ostentatiously decorated with large mirrors and Queen Anne style furnishings. He had expertly masked himself in his false face as if nothing had occurred behind the curtain. With a obsequious smile, he was showing an elegant young woman a bracelet Shae had crafted. The brunette’s expression registered scant interest, and she glanced often toward the shop’s door and show window. Her blue eyes looked furtive, as if she didn’t wish to be caught here.

  Shae wondered idly whose money the well-dressed woman was spending. Usually, her female customers came with a fat wallet in tow, in the form of a husband, fiancé, or father. Not that it mattered much to Shae. She hated wasting time with fickle society women, giddy in anticipation of another showpiece to display. Shae preferred to spend her day in the back room, doing the real work of the business. Unless she was making a gift of a particular piece, Shae couldn’t care less where it ended up after it was crafted. Her joy came out of removing it from the mold, applying layers of enamel, finishing the piece with careful polishing. Knowing that it sparkled first for her.

  Still, she’d developed a technique for dealing with this type. She’d have an order from the woman in no time at all.

  “This is Mary Rowan,” her father introduced. He must be especially upset with her. He usually said “Mary Shae,” to keep at least some semblance of peace. “And this is Miss Tisdale. She’d like to discuss an original creation. I’ll be in the back.”

  . . . Crushing the spirits of the employees, Shae added mentally. At least they had a better chance to defend themselves than a cage-full of tame birds. She watched him exit through a curtained doorway before she nodded a welcome to Miss Tisdale.

  The customer glanced once again toward the front door. Then she regarded Shae with a look of frank appraisal that would have been better suited to her examination of the bracelet. Or to a cat considering a bird. “You are Shae?” she asked.

  Shae smiled, pleased that her father’s misleading introduction had availed him nothing. “Mary Shae,” she explained, “but I do prefer Shae.”

  “I am interested in something unique,” Miss Tisdale continued, “something designed with me, specifically, in mind. A sort of a brooch, preferably with diamonds.”

  Surprisingly, she didn’t elaborate about a social event she’d like this for, the rivals she’d show up, nor even the beaus she planned to dazzle. Strange, thought Shae, for something in the woman’s voice made her every syllable sound smug.

  Shae glanced into a pair of almond-shaped eyes whose color matched the gray-blue of the sea. Remembering gulf waters, she pushed aside a flutter of uneasiness and focused on the image. Smiling with pleasure, Shae recalled the shell, the sunset on the beach last evening. Yes, that was what she needed. Pain and embarrassment had swept the memory aside, but now it had returned to her. And this time no arrogant man would drive it from her. She wanted desperately to craft that spiral shell.

  Shae sketched rapidly on a pad of paper she’d carried from the workroom. When she looked up, Miss Tisdale’s face mirrored rapt attention.

  Shae finished her drawing. “But it has to be a pendant. Can you see it?”

  Miss Tisdale picked up the drawing reverently, then stared at Shae as if she’d spun gold out of straw. Almost convinced, she needed only a few more words to seal the bargain.

  “The sea,” Shae concluded. “Your eyes are of the water, like the shell.”

  Shae felt foolish saying it, though the woman did have attractive eyes. It always amazed her how much the customers seemed to value a few comments from the artist.

  Shae had no more words to offer; she never did. As far as she was concerned, her sketch and the samples of her work spoke for themselves. Lately, the pieces she had fashioned for other Port Providence ladies spoke for her as well, when they were worn at events such as the one that Shae had ruined just last night. Events she’d never be expected to attend again, she thought contendedly.

  Miss Tisdale left a sizable deposit, all in cash. She never did explain the purpose of the pendant: whether it marked some special occasion or with what it might be worn. Most women prattled on or bragged about the devotion of whoever would be paying for the thing. This customer, instead, seemed satisfied with a quiet air of arrogance. Shae felt relieved to be spared the small talk. She had work to do.

  Throughout the day, she worked on refining the design and ordering the materials she wanted. Miss Tisdale’s piece would be the finest she could craft. And why not? The young woman said she didn’t give two hoots what it cost.

  *

  As he sorted through the weekly cargo reports, John Frindly’s mouth puckered as if he’d just sucked on a half-ripe persimmon. Phillip had stepped into his manager’s office to check upcoming orders. He watched with interest as Frindly quickly flipped a torn sheet of paper to the bottom of his stack.

  “That didn’t look like any cargo list. What is it?” Phillip asked.

  “Nothing interesting, Dr. Payton,” Frindly answered quickly. Too quickly. His bald spot darkened to nearly crimson within its fringe of fine, gray hair. Perspiration dotted his clean-shaven upper lip.

  “As I’ve told you before, I’m no longer practicing. The ‘Doctor’ is not only unnecessary, it’s a disagreeable reminder.”

  Frindly shrugged. “All right. But I’ll be the only man in Port Providence who doesn’t call you by that title.”

  “Oh, come now. Since this dock business began, I’ve been called by many other names, though none have been as flattering as ‘mister.’ Now please tell me what’s wrong. You wouldn’t have hidden anything from my father.”

  Watery blue eyes glanced upward, into Phillip’s. He wondered if the old man was bridling the thought that this younger Payton would never fill his father’s shoes. To his credit, he said nothing of the sort, except in Phillip’s nightmares.

  A pent-up breath escaped in a hiss through Frindly’s teeth. “I suppose you ought to see it. At first I thought it was just noise, but perhaps precautions are in order.”

  He found the sheet and thrust it toward his employer.

  “You should have shown me sooner. It appears that it’s addressed to me,” Phillip said as he scanned the opening: Dear Nigger-lover

  Large print sliced a wide swath across the paper. The message matched its greeting in terms of subtlety.

  Take it back or die. Now.

  No signature, of course. But he supposed it could be worse. The sorry devil could have written “Dr. Nigger-lover.” Phillip crumpled the note into a ball and tossed it into the trash by Frindly’s desk. “How many?”

  Frindly peered at him for several moments.

  “Tell me,” Phillip urged.

  “A few, I think.”

  “The note upset you. I could tell. You’d remember every one. How many?”

  The older man pulled a file from the back of a desk drawer and handed it to Phillip without looking at the contents. “Six so far. None complimentary, none signed.”

  “All the same sort of thing?”

  “Worse now. He’s graduated from ‘good advice’ to ‘watch your back’ to ‘die.’ They’ve been slipped in with cargo reports, the orders, even the mail once. I didn’t think you’d pay attention to some crank, considering that neither your business associates nor your mother could change your mind.”

  Phillip passed the file back to Frindly. “You were right. I’m not interested in this drivel. A man too cowardly to sign his own name isn't brave enough to follow through.”

  Frindly tucked the file back into his drawer and pulled out a worn-looking silver flask. “Join me in a drink?” he offered.

  Phillip smiled and shook his head. He knew John and his father had long shared the habit of an occasional nip to smooth out a rough day. But since Phillip took his father’s place, Frindly had never indulged in the younger Payton’s presence. Now he did, but first he lifted the flask toward his employer.

  “I’m not certain that you’re right,”
the old man said, “but I’ll grant you this, Phillip Payton. You may not think the same way as your father, but you’re every bit as stubborn.”

  “That’s the finest compliment I’ve heard in quite some time,” Phillip answered.

  *

  After completing his review of the day’s orders, Phillip decided to leave work, though it was only three-thirty. He hoped to see Rachel this evening, but first, he wanted to look in on his friend, Ethan. After last evening’s disappointment, Lowell must be feeling dismal.

  Many years before, the two had met at their parents’ social club. Boredom brought them together, and to escape it, the two had gotten into their share of mischief. Phillip smiled at a memory of the time they substituted chopped seaweed for chives and mixed ant grubs in the rice for one of the head cook’s favorite recipes. When he’d caught them, the old man forced each boy to sample the ruined dishes. Phillip learned his lesson. He’d never tampered with another recipe again.

  Ethan had been less amenable. First the boy had denied the whole thing; then he had tried to blame his friend. When neither plan succeeded, Ethan had wielded the power of the tantrum to get the head cook fired. Phillip shook his head at the memory. Even then, the young Lowell hated anyone interfering with his plans.

  That and a few other such incidents had convinced Phillip to steer clear of Ethan for years. It had come as a pleasant surprise when his old friend offered his support last month, just when Phillip most needed it. Since then, the two of them had enjoyed time spent together, often sharing a day’s relaxation sailing on the El Dorado or fishing from its decks.

  Because it was still fairly early, Phillip suspected he would find his friend on the yacht. He rode Cure toward the pier, all the while wondering how Ethan was handling his first bout of rejection.

  He found his friend lounging on a deck chair, enjoying a drink.

  “Come and join me,” Ethan invited. He didn’t get up, but gestured for Phillip to serve himself from the makeshift bar he’d set up on a small wooden stand nearby.

  Phillip poured himself a finger of bourbon, which he cut liberally with water. He intended to be perfectly sober when he saw Rachel tonight.

  Taking a seat, he sipped at his drink. “Consoling yourself, are you?”

  Ethan laughed, a harsh sound not unlike a bow scraped haphazardly across a violin’s strings. “Consoling myself? My friend, I’m celebrating!”

  Phillip chuckled. “So, you realized you’re better off without her. Good for you!”

  After a shake of his head, Ethan sloshed back the last of the amber liquid in his tumbler. When he had finished, he stood and moved back to the table for a refill.

  “I’m better off for certain, but I’m still going to have that girl.” He grin stretched past jubilant, toward smug.

  “You can’t mean you’ll still marry her after what she did.”

  Ethan flopped back into the chair with a lack of grace that led his friend to believe he’d been celebrating for some time. The grin broadened. “Oh, no. Now I’ll retain the opportunity to select a more suitable wife. I’ve another girl in mind already.”

  “But you just said”

  “ I said I’d have Shae Rowan, not marry her. Meet Port Providence’s newest ‘patron of the arts.’ I’ve offered to put her into an apartment.”

  Phillip knew he shouldn’t care what Ethan did, but he abruptly recalled the look of devastation in Shae’s eyes last night as she knelt beside the ruined birdcage. “Surely, she wouldn’t agree to such a thing.”

  The blond shrugged expansively. “She will, soon enough.”

  “Perhaps you should know about her family situation. Last night I saw her”

  “ I know about the birds. She told me. Very distraught about the whole thing. It’s perfect, Phillip. She really has no other option. She may have been insulted when I brought it up this morning, but she’ll come crawling to me soon enough. By the time her father’s through with her, she’ll be more than sorry she missed her chance to be my wife. She’ll grovel for my help. I look forward to it. She’ll look so lovely begging.”

  “Does she truly understand what your help would cost her?”

  Ethan chuckled. “If she doesn’t know why a man puts a beautiful young woman into an apartment, then she’s hopelessly naïve. I’ll be doing her a favor to educate her on the point.”

  “But she’ll be ruined. And when her father learns she’s living in an apartment you own, he’ll be furious. The man’s a raving lunatic, from what I understand.”

  Ethan waved aside his friend’s concerns. “That damned Yank won’t dare fool with me. I could so easily destroy him. Besides, what do you care about some shop girl? Unless . . . why’d you go to see her last night? You take a fancy to her for yourself?”

  “Don’t be ludicrous. I simply wanted to be sure she’d made it home safely from the beach. I told you how I’d left her. And you’re taking unfair advantage, Ethan. It’s not the sort of thing a gentleman would do.”

  “Not to a lady, of course. But she’s a half-Irish artist with a notorious family background. And she’s shown, rather publicly, she wasn’t up to being a Lowell wife. She’s fortunate I would have her under any conditions whatsoever.”

  Phillip stood and turned away from Ethan and stalked toward the deck rail. “Simply because you can get away with something doesn’t make it right. Yes, she embarrassed you, but you’re ruining her forever. Don’t go pretending an act of utter selfishness makes you anybody’s patron saint, not around me anyway.”

  Ethan laughed. “Oh, come now, Phillip. Admit it. You thought that saucy little Shae Rowan would make a fine addition to the elegant icicle you’re engaged to. You’re just angry that I acted on the impulse you resisted.”

  “You should be glad I resist impulses.” Phillip’s voice dropped to a growl. “Because if I didn’t, I’d have pitched you off that deck chair straight into the bay for that remark. You’re drunk, Ethan. What’s more, you’re a disgrace. If you have one trace of civility left in you, you’ll leave that girl alone.”

  With that, Phillip stormed off the yacht toward the end of the pier, where Cure was tethered. As he nudged the gelding to a brisk trot, Phillip swore out loud. Had Ethan’s whole engagement been no more than a lark? How could his friend have ever cared for Shae, if he would so badly use her now?

  Sensing home and the promise of his dinner, the horse picked up his pace. Astride the animal, Phillip thought again of Rachel. If he somehow learned he couldn’t have her as his wife, would he be content to take her as a mistress?

  The impossibility of the idea assailed him. He flushed to think of his fiancée in such terms. Rachel Tisdale was a sensible woman from a respectable family. She would gird herself with etiquette and damn him straight to Hell if he ever made such a suggestion. If Shae Rowan had any morals, she’d tell Ethan the same thing. If, on the other hand, she would accept Ethan’s offer, she was her mother’s daughter after all, and she deserved her fate.

  Despite his judgment, he couldn’t help remembering her, the way she’d knelt down on her front walk beside the ruined cage. He thought of her green eyes, bereft of hope, of will.

  No, not of will. In that last moment, she’d inexplicably reached out to entrust him with her injured bird. He’d taken the small creature into his home to tend its wounds.

  And afterwards, he’d turned his back completely on the woman who had offered him her trust.

  *

  Despite the flurry of enthusiasm that surrounded Shae’s new project, she still managed to worry. What was Lucius thinking since she’d helped him lose his job? Was he relieved to be free of King’s bullying, to drift into retirement, or perhaps to some other position? Or did he mean to win his place back, as he had several times before during his rocky relationship with Father?

  She worried too, about the man she’d met last night. What on earth had possessed her to give a strangera man she’d hated on first meeting her last, living bird? It had been an imp
ulse, undeniable at the time, unexplainable at present. Was she, like King, losing herself in this maelstrom she’d stirred up?

  Once more, she thought about the stranger. Phillip Payton, he had called himself. She felt, more than remembered, the way his hands had touched hers, the way he’d gentled her hurt finch. Strong hands. She wondered how they’d feel if they held her.

  With a tired sigh, she shivered, despite the stuffiness of the workshop. She might as well go home, if she couldn’t keep her mind off Phillip Payton’s hands.

  She frowned and checked the clock. It wasn’t even four, but she needed to leave. She thought about Delilah, dozing patiently outside the shop’s back door. Her left foot twitched in anticipation of the pressure of the stirrup. Father didn’t like her to quit so early, but . . . It wasn’t as if he could dock her pay. After nodding a goodbye to Michael, she tucked the shell pendant design into a pocket. Maybe her work ethic would stir later. For now, she needed to feel the movement of the horse beneath her, to breathe the warm beach air again.

  Slipping out the back, she successfully avoided King. But with her first glance at the gold mare, all thoughts of the beach vanished. Someone had draped a frayed and filthy carpetbag over the sidesaddle. Shae looked around, in an attempt to find the owner. But not even a tramp lurked in the alley. Curious, she slipped the bag off the pommel and opened it. A puff of dust made her sneeze twice.

  Inside, her fingers brushed what felt like crumbled leaves and then a small square of sewn fabric. When she drew it out, she thought it was some sort of jewelry bag. Something hard and heavy lent the cloth sack weight. How strange. Why would someone leave a piece of jewelry here, where anyone might take it? Intrigued, she loosened the drawstring and poured the contents into the palm of her right hand.

  She stared unblinking at the object, her pounding heart the only part of her that dared to move. Tears sprang to her eyes, even faster than her mind’s denial.