by Jill Barnett
The oilcloth suddenly lifted and his handsome face came into view.
When he caught her gape-mouthed stare, his dimples deepened into an infuriating grin.
I’m caught.
She averted her eyes. She needed to look busy so he wouldn’t see she was hiding down here, even though she was. Her salvation came in the form of a lone plate, sitting by the table leg. She reached for it, but so did he. Salvation changed to damnation. Their hands touched, each holding an edge of the plate, and her heart thumped so hard in her chest that reflex made her glance up to see if he’d heard it. His look changed. His grin faded. He was looking right at her, and the look was familiar. It was the same one she’d witnessed right before he’d kissed her.
A strange kind of thrill rippled in her bones, like melting marrow. The loud throb in her ears drowned out all the surrounding sounds. Her neck warmed and she held her breath, waiting for something, anything, to happen.
For infinite seconds Hallie and Kit were fixed, their faces locked across the space of an empty chair, their hands fused by a flat piece of glazed pottery that was acting like a conduit, channeling the flood of magnetism between them. The air pulsed around their stunned bodies, and their faces inched closer, lips parted and breath fettered in unchecked anticipation.
Then Liv suddenly sat down on the chair, forcing Hallie back. Her hand released the plate, and the normal world around her resumed.
But she didn’t stand up, although Kit had. Wasn’t this what she’d wanted? She’d prayed for him to stop treating her like a child, but she had no idea that setting out to win a man’s heart could be so consuming. She felt devoured and weak. Like yesterday’s tea leaves, she was drained of her freshness and that naïve surety of youth that had colored her plans foolproof.
And she realized crawling around under a table was not exactly mature, womanly behavior. Hallie backed out from under the table, skirts and all, determined to act as if nothing unusual had happened.
She butted right into a hard column. She scooted forward to try to move back out at a different angle, but her skirt was caught. She wiggled her behind sideways in an effort to dislodge the fabric, but apparently it was still caught.
Aggravated, she turned around to better see the problem.
Her behind rested against a dark, leather boot. She stopped wiggling and made the mistake of looking up, way up, into Kit Howland’s laughing eyes.
Lee Prescott pushed his chair back and looked from Kit to Hallie. “What’s going on over there?”
Kit glanced at Lee and then looked pointedly at Hallie’s behind. Suppressed laughter threaded through his voice when he answered. “I think Hallie’s polishing my boots.”
She wanted to die, but only for a moment, because the sound of their laughter made her too doggone mad. “You’re right in my way!”
“I thought you needed something . . .” Kit paused meaningfully, “a moment ago . . . under the table. After our conversation this afternoon, I knew you couldn’t possibly be hiding . . .”
He knew darn well she had been hiding.
“So,” he continued. “I thought you might be stuck and need some help.”
“I am stuck, under your muddy boot!” Hallie sat back on her heels and pulled fruitlessly on the pinned fabric. He wouldn’t budge. She looked at the fork, still clutched in her sweaty palm, and a wicked little smile teased her own lips. Knowing he watched, she eyed his thigh, slowly, up and down, as if contemplating exactly where to plant the fork.
Kit prudently stepped off her skirt. She swiped at the rusty dirt marks stamped into her favorite dress. The mud wasn’t all that dry, so instead of flaking off, the grit smeared into the fine weave of the fabric. She sat there still fuming, more embarrassed than angry, but clutching the fork, daggerlike. Her breath was ragged.
A small hand gently patted the bare skin of her collarbone. Knut leaned over and asked in childish innocence, “Did you lace your gussies too tight again, Hallie?”
The picture of honesty, he looked up at Kit. “When Hallie huffs and puffs, Da says it’s because she laces her gussies so tight she can’t move,” he announced.
“It’s not gussies, silly,” Liv corrected with an authoritative tone. “It’s gussets.”
“I’m not silly! Girls are silly.”
“Are not.”
“Uh-huh!”
Hallie rose to her knees and slammed the fork on the table so forcefully that both Liv and Knut hushed. Suddenly, two large hands grabbed her waist and lifted her to her feet. Kit’s hands squeezed her waist.
She looked at him, frowning.
“I was checking your gussets, Hallie-girl,” he whispered in her ear. “They do feel a little tight.”
She twisted out of his grip, having long ago lost her sense of humor, and feeling indignant at being the brunt of his “They are fine! Just fine! Absolutely perfect!”
Kit shrugged and returned to his table. Hallie settled into her own seat, flushed and uncomfortable. But she was overwhelmed by a desolate feeling of failure. Oh God, this wasn’t what I meant. I didn’t want him to laugh at me. And he’s back to calling me girl!
All she wanted now was for Kit Howland to forget the very existence of that frightened, silly, clumsy young girl she’d just proven herself to be.
Knut’s chattering little voice was grilling Lee for whaling tales, but at Hallie’s frown he returned to his seat. Millie barreled out of the kitchen carrying a steaming pot which she placed before the men.
She turned her aproned girth toward the twins. “Well, lookee here! These here two musta growed a foot. Gonna hafta feed ‘em a whole passel of food jus’ ta fil ‘em up.”
“Y’know what, Miz Dockery?” Knut asked.
“What?”
“Hallie burnt supper! Y’shoulda seen it.” Knut waved his small arms in the air. “Smoke was everywhere, and it smelled something awful! An’ Hallie’s face got all black an’ everything, just like Rufus Jefferson—only his is black ‘cause God made it that way—I knowed ‘cause he told me so. An’ y’know what?”
“What?”
“Hallie promised we could have her dessert if we were good.” He looked around the table. “She did. She really did. Remember, Hallie?”
Hallie closed her eyes. Gunnar was right, he is a tattletale. But Hallie looked into those guileless eyes and gave up. There were no secrets with chatty four-year-olds. They didn’t understand discretion.
“I’m being good, huh?”
“Yes, love,” she answered, “you’re good.”
Knut pointed to the steaming pot on the men’s table. “What’s that?”
“Jus’ the thing ta warm yore vitals,” Millie boasted. “Maria will be bringin’ ya some real soon.”
Knut rose to his knees and craned over to see better.
Millie removed the lid and lifted the ladle. Creamy, thick liquid spilled into Kit’s bowl. “It’s hot chowder,” she told Knut.
Hot chowder? Hallie froze; but her blood didn’t. It surged to her face, and she knew that anyone who looked at her could see she was bright red. She sunk a little lower in her chair, wishing she could fade away into nothingness. So much for her big plans. Instead she would have to suffer through the longest, most uncomfortable meal of her entire adult life.
Chowder?
“The boys are finally down and tucked in,” Hallie said, as she closed their bedroom door as quietly as she could.
“Shhh,” Dagny warned.
A rustle from the single bed across the room drew her eyes. Liv snuggled farther under the heavy wool blanket, and within seconds the youngster’s breathing was slow and even.
Hallie tiptoed over to the double bed she and Dagny shared. Her sister sat cross-legged on top of the woven coverlet, and both of the feather bed pillows were wedged between her back and th
e iron bedstead. It was a stance Hallie recognized. Dagny wanted to talk, or, more than likely, her perceptive younger sister had decided that Hallie needed to talk.
“What was going on tonight, Hallie?”
“What do you mean ‘what was going on?’” Hallie sat on the edge of the bed, giving her prying sister an excellent view of her back as she bent to untie the ribbons on her shoes.
“I’m not a simpleton,” Dagny whispered, “although even a moron could have figured that our little family outing tonight had all the earmarks of one of Haldis Fredriksen’s famous schemes gone haywire.”
“Unbutton my dress please.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Dagny!” Hallie whispered heatedly, “I’m the oldest in this family, and I don’t have to answer to anyone.” So much for the talk, she thought; a talking to is more like it.
“You have to answer to your own conscience.” Dagny pushed a covered button through the tight hole on Hallie’s dress. “And to Da, when he gets home. Look, Hallie, I’m just worried about you. I love you, and I don’t want to see you do something stupid and spend another two years having to hide from Kit Howland.”
“Are you through?”
Dagny freed the last button. “There. All done.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Hallie shucked the dress, petticoat, and crinoline. “Are you through lecturing me?” She kicked free of the clinging flannel underskirt then worked at the knots on her corset ties. They were tangled tighter than a madwoman’s knitting. She’d laced them too tight. She turned toward the light, to better see the knots, and instead saw the hurt on Dagny’s face.
“Oh, Duggie,” she said on a sigh. “I’m not mad at you, just mad at myself.” Hallie had to accept the blame for this evening, all of which was her own cockamamie idea. It was dumb, stupid, and as Dagny reminded her, so typical. “The man has no manners,” she grumbled.
“Why?”
“I don’t know why . . . Maybe he was raised by wolves.” She laughed.
“I meant, why are you mad at yourself?” Dagny clarified.
Hallie flopped back on the bed, an arm resting over her eyes. “You’re right,” she said dismally. “I really did something stupid.”
“I assume it has something to do with Kit Howland?”
Hallie nodded.
“You always worry over the silliest things. Whatever you did is probably not so bad.” But Dagny snuggled deep into the pillows, as if she were expecting a long story.
Hallie poured out her whole tale, starting with the apple tree and ending with her plan to impress Kit into seeing her as a woman.
“Oh, Hallie.”
“I know . . . I know . . . it was a dumb idea.”
Dagny leaned real close, her expression serious. “Did he really kiss you?” she whispered.
Hallie nodded.
“What was it like?”
“Oh no! I’m not telling you anymore.”
“How am I supposed to help you figure out what to do if you won’t tell me everything?”
“That kiss was personal. Besides, no one can help me now. You heard him, he practically jumped at the chance to go to Rancho Sausalito with Captain Prescott. He looked as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.” Hallie stood and slipped on her nightgown. “I doubt if I’ll have the chance to see him again soon. That’s why tonight was so important to me. I foolishly thought that maybe I could make him care for me. I wonder now if he ever can.”
“He kissed you, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he kissed me.” Hallie unconsciously touched her mouth. Some moments, like now, she wondered herself if that kiss really happened.
“Were his lips all wet?”
“Duggie!”
“Were they?”
“Well, no. They were kind of dry—”
“Oh yuck!” came Liv’s disgusted voice from beneath a lump on the bed in the opposite corner.
“Go to sleep, Liv!” Both Hallie and Dagny said in unison.
“How is a person supposed to sleep with you two yak, yak, yakking? You sound like a gaggle of geese.”
“Here!” Dagny pulled a pillow from behind her and flung it at Liv. “Cover your big ears with this!”
“All right, I will.” There was a long pause. “But then I can’t tell Hallie what I saw. And it had to do with Mr. Kissy Drylips too.”
“What did you see, Liv?”
“He stared right at you, Hallie, like Gunnar and Knut when they’re looking at licorice ropes.”
“He did?” Hallie perked up.
“Yup. And when he came out from under the table and put those dishes down, he looked real strange.”
Dagny looked at Hallie. “Liv’s right. He looked kind of dumbstruck.”
Dumbstruck was mild for what Hallie had felt. Branded in her memory was that moment they had shared under the table. It was the only positive thing that had happened tonight. “He looked dumbstruck?”
“Um-hm,” Dagny answered thoughtfully. “You know what else?”
“What?”
“His ears got red,” Dagny stated, as if those four words unlocked all the mysteries that existed between man and woman.
“Red ears? What on God’s green earth are you talking about?”
“When Mama was alive and Da would come home, he’d look at her in this special way and his ears would get red. I always wanted a man to look at me and get red ears,” Dagny added dreamily.
Hallie felt a little better. He had red ears? She pondered that until she noticed Liv’s nosy little face, toothy grin and all, gleaming from under a blanket in the corner. Sometimes it was as if her nine-year-old sister could read her mind.
“Time for some sleep. Morning will be here all too quickly.” Hallie turned down the wick in the bedside lamp and laid back in the bed.
Don’t get your hopes up.
But some little ray of hope, deep within her mind’s eye, tried desperately to picture Kit Howland with bright red ears.
Kit pulled his crowned cap lower to protect his icy ears from the bite of the wind. One booted foot rested against the sturdy oak frame that housed the cooling tank of the whaler. His long, lithe body swayed naturally with the undulant ship, and he tapped his pipe gently on the shellac-coated railing.
Stark, white smoke curled upward from the smoldering meerschaum. The faint glow of San Francisco nestled off the port side, and one lone star winked high in the west, glittering silver gray and conjuring up the image of a certain madcap female, half young girl and half woman. An unbidden smile came to him when he remembered Hallie’s antics. She gave new meaning to the term trouble, though he wasn’t quite sure who was the recipient of most of it. He just knew it was a hell of a lot safer to laugh at her than to take her seriously. One lesson he’d learned today was that by teasing and provoking her, he maintained the upper hand whenever he was near her. It was a lesson he’d been forced to remember, since the whole day had been filled with strange lapses in his normally strong-willed control. That little exchange at The Grotto was a prime example. He’d almost succumbed to rolling around under a table of a public dining room with the daughter of his good friend. Luckily, she was Jan’s worry and not his.
The clapping sail above his head buffeted, joining the others in what sounded like applause. No doubt they’d met Hallie. The ship pitched slightly and groaned. Right, bad joke. He pulled the pipe from his mouth and turned into the salty spray of the wind.
“Do you miss it?” Lee stepped out from the shadow of the sheltered tryworks.
Kit didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge Lee’s presence. It wasn’t necessary, for both of them were well aware of the powerful lure of the sea. Lee still existed in the thrill of her realm, while Kit had divorced himself from her in order to survive.
; “There are times when I do. The sea was my home for a long time. You can’t erase that, just like you can’t erase the memories, good and bad. It’s hard to believe, but the keen taste of her, her smell, can still ignite something deep within me.” Kit leaned casually against the ship’s rail. “Standing here, feeling her movement under me, it almost seduces me into thinking I could come back.”
“You could, Kit. Bury the past. You were a whaleman long before you married Jo,” Lee said.
He shook his head. “I’ve other responsibilities now. I vowed I’d make this agency work, and I will. As for my past, it’s going to haunt me no matter where I am.” Kit couldn’t conceal the sarcasm in his laugh. “My former in-laws are now the largest buyers of oil and baleen on the East Coast. The Tabers have taken over Leviathan Enterprises, both the boneworks and the refinery.” He paused. “I’ve consigned Jan’s last cargo to them.”
“Why them? I heard Nantucket needs oil.”
“Leviathan is so low on baleen that they’ve doubled the price they’re willing to pay and have guaranteed to beat anyone’s price on oil. So I passed up a chance to sell the Sea Haven’s load elsewhere once I heard what they were offering.”
“Is it Jan you’re thinking of, or couldn’t you resist gouging the Tabers?” Lee asked.
“So speaks my conscience.”
Lee was silent.
Kit sighed. “I’ve asked myself the same question. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good to have the Tabers eating out of my hand, especially when the price of the meal is so dear. But Jan came to me before he left. He’s tired. The past few years have taken their toll, and since his wife died, he’s lost his drive. He told me he doesn’t want to leave his family alone anymore, and he asked me to get top dollar for this last load, even if I had to sit on it.”
Both men were quiet, each dwelling on his own thoughts and those of the man they called friend.
“Jan sponsored my master’s papers,” Lee confessed in a tone filled with quiet affection.
“I didn’t know that.” Kit was surprised. Both Jan and Lee were good friends, but this was something neither of them had ever mentioned.