by Raven, Sandy
He showed her an infectious, boyish grin. "I'm right behind you," he called out.
The view from Lucky's position, watching Mrs. Watkins' bottom as she walked, only verified that this Mary-with-two-first-names was quite fetching indeed, with her trouser-encased bottom swaying unintentionally as she moved. As she worked her way through the bustle of the dockside foot traffic he watched as again and again, she greeted one person, only to have another call out to her from across the road and she'd respond with a wave or a hello.
Once they passed the densely congested dock area for a more residential one, he fell into step with her.
"Most of the residents here in Indian Point have either worked for my husband or had family members who worked for him," she said. "He's been an important part of the community for many years. You wouldn't know it by the looks of it, but our small village is home to two shipyards, both doing well." Pride for her home lit her whole face as she spoke of it. "I'd like to think we're doing something right over here in our little corner of the Chesapeake."
She slowed her pace as she passed a dry goods store. "Most of the residents are born here, live the entire lives here, and eventually grow old here. Either working in the shipyards, or in the businesses supporting our shipyards, it's really all there is to do here. We train for this our entire lives when we are young, then we apprentice and eventually teach the younger ones if we ever master our trade. Most of the girls I knew as a child have remained here in the village, or nearby."
Soon, they turned into the front garden of a quaint little wood-planked, two story house. Freshly painted a pale yellow, the house had pristine white shutters with matching trim and a wide porch that wrapped around the corner on one side. A low whitewashed picket fence completely enclosed the yard. A wooden rocker and a chaise furnished one corner of the porch with a small table between them. The garden itself, though minute in comparison to what he was accustomed to, was in complete bloom with a riot of colorful flowers in every shade imaginable bordering the front and the walkway up to the steps. It was a warm and welcoming abode. One a bright young woman would be proud to have tended.
"Welcome to our modest home, Captain Gualtiero." Mrs. Watkins led the way up the few wide, shallow steps to the front porch and door. "Now you know where to come for dinner tomorrow night. It's quite an easy walk to the office, yet Victor insists on driving me, even though I could use the exercise."
"Perhaps he's concerned with your safety."
"There's nothing unsafe about our little village, Captain. Victor thinks it befits Mr. Watkins' station in the community to have a driver take him everywhere, and that supposed courtesy extends to me as Mrs. Watkins." She met his gaze from across the room. "Though I keep telling him, I'll get fat if he drives me everywhere."
She opened the door and held it for him, something he was going to have to get used to with this odd, but very attractive, young woman.
"Sally," she called out, "I'm home."
From another room a voice responded. "Been waitin' on ya ta get here. I'll bring out yer plate."
"We have company, Sally," Mary-with-two-first-names replied. "Can you make it two plates?"
"Yes'm." A portly older black woman came into the room wiping her hands on her apron. "I should probably make it three as I expect Mr. Watkins and my Victor any moment as well."
Mrs. Watkins, or Mary as he was now starting to think of her, poured them two glasses of cool water with pieces of ice and sliced lemon floating in it, and handed him one. She gulped down half her glass, then refilled it again.
Ice in a beverage was unusual. He lifted his glass and inspected it before he drank. "This is far more refreshing than any fruity concoction I've ever had at a mid-summer ball."
"She can do the fruity concoctions, too, if you'd like, but Sally wasn't expecting I'd bring a guest, and cold water is my preferred drink." Mary-Michael closed her eyes and swallowed. "Unless it's cold out, then it's hot tea or warm milk."
"When we moved to England, I learned to drink tea with milk in it."
"Yuck," she said.
"It is an acquired taste," he said, "and a common drink for children."
Sounds of hooves coming up the bricked drive stopped under the portico, letting them know that Mr. Watkins had arrived. He didn't have her all to himself any longer.
"Sally, they're here." Mrs. Watkins called out.
Lucky leaned against the door jamb to the saloon while his hostess opened the door for her husband. Watkins walked in and saw him immediately, coming forward to shake his hand.
"Mr. Watkins," his wife said, "when Captain Gualtiero informed me that he had no luncheon prepared for him aboard his vessel, I invited him here to share ours."
"Fine thing you did, too, dear." The gray-haired man settled in a chair in the saloon. "A man cannot think when he's hungry, and I'm certain you two are far from finished yet."
"We still have two more lists to go through," his hostess said. The topic turned to work for Mr. and Mrs. Watkins. "Andrew was still at work at the table, though he was about to go eat. Robert was working on payroll. He had a question for you about a statement from a supplier. I was unable to answer him and told him I would mention it to you. He asked if you might come in today."
Watkins listened with closed eyes as his wife chattered. "I told him I did not think so, and went back to working with Captain Gualtiero. The captain and I covered a lot of ground this morning. I do believe we can finish the lists this afternoon. The other two are not quite as lengthy as the first."
Mr. Watkins asked detailed questions about their morning's work and, satisfied that his wife was able to handle the task, he encouraged her to continue in the same fashion until the two other lists were finished. Mrs. Watkins looked his way, the shy smile on her face trying to hide an emotion he couldn't quite put his finger on. Was it sadness?
Lucky sipped from his glass. "You need not continue calling me captain. It's so formal, and I am, if anything, a casual man. I would be happy if you would both call me Lucky." His hope was to get closer to Mary. He knew after yesterday that she was keeping him at a distance, and he wanted closer.
Mr. Watkins smiled and opened his eyes, replying first. "If that is what you wish, then that is what I shall do. Although, Mrs. Watkins is less likely to do so." He chuckled when she looked embarrassed. "She is so proper, my little wife. I think it was the influence of the nuns at the children's home, and the school she attended. We've been married now for just over six years and she has yet to call me by my Christian name, though I have requested she do so long ago."
Interesting, Lucky thought once the shock subsided. He hoped his facial features didn't show his surprised reaction, and that his hosts didn't perceive it in a negative or condescending way if he did. He sipped his water again, to regain his bearings and tried to temper his reaction. He addressed Mrs. Watkins proud that his voice remained level. "You were raised in a children's home? Is that like an orphanage?"
She blushed as she kept her gaze downcast at the glass she held. "Mr. Watkins and Father Douglas changed the name officially to, Mary Star of the Sea Home for Children. Almost all residents are over the age five, and we reside there until we are old enough to work or marry, then we move on to other housing arrangements. We all get basic education, some of the boys even go on to college.
"And my husband knows all this as he was also raised there. He currently is on the Board for the Directors for the home, and changing the name of the place was the first thing he asked of the Bishop. And I cannot agree more. It is difficult enough going to live there as a scared child when you have lost your family. To learn that you will be placed up for adoption immediately upon arrival is a terrifying thing. Living away from our family took some getting used to early on, but the home was all my brother and I had." She ran a finger around the rim of her glass. "Our parents died when I was eight and my brother was ten. Of Yellow Fever. George and I were orphaned, so we went to live at the church."
"Amazing," he repl
ied, honestly impressed. "So how did you get your education?"
"The church ran the home and the school as well. Both George and I received fine educations."
"Mrs. Watkins' brother is a priest at our church here," Mr. Watkins added.
Lucky already knew this from what he'd witnessed yesterday. "Wonderful. You must be proud of him." His mind swam with what he was learning about her. But it wasn't really just about Mary-Michael Watkins. This was about her entire self-made family. Her husband, her brother, her friends, and from what he witnessed on the walk over, a large part of the population.
She nodded again, but this time she met his gaze and gave him a slight grin, revealing only the partial dimple in her left cheek. He supposed no one would ever notice it because it was such a tiny hint as to her true emotion. But he noticed. He did not want to forget a thing about this amazing young woman that he was coming to care for, not just lust after. "But I am equally as proud of Becky, Cadence, Melody-who is now known as Sister Elizabeth, and Andrew and Robert at work. You see, over the years a few of us... we've become a family of sorts. We might not be blood, but we are a family."
Sally reentered the room to tell them luncheon was served. None too soon by the looks of it. Mary was looking somewhat uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. Once they were seated, she asked him about his parents, and Lucky related how he, too, was an orphan. "My parents died when I was seven. I don't remember them at all. They died in a fire. My sister is eleven years older than I, and we went to live with our aunt and cousins for a short time immediately after. Then my sister married an Englishman and they brought me to live with them. My sister and her husband had the raising of me. He also raised his two sisters. One of them, Sarah, is Ian's wife."
"How did you come to meet my friend Hamish's son?"
Thus began the tale of meeting Ian at Oxford on the first day of astronomy class. Lucky shared how they both gravitated toward each other, not because of upbringing or class, but because they had unconventional ideas and fiercely independent attitudes. They also discovered that they both had a love for sailing.
As they grew older, the drive to succeed in everything they did led them into a venture that had recently opened to the few who possessed the motivation, assertiveness and endurance to make it work. Of course it helped to have the right backing, both financial and legal, which Lucky had with his family.
Mr. Watkins got a far-away look. "The lad was so angry at his father for sending him away. Did he ever get over the hard feelings toward his da?"
"I think he did," Lucky said honestly. "Though, you could ask him when he returns with me next year."
The elder man nodded. "His father loved him very much, ye know. It near broke his heart to send him away. He wanted the lad to be prepared for the day he'd take over the title. Even if it meant sending him back to that mean old goat grandfather of his."
"Ian lived with his aunts, because his grandfather wouldn't have him at all. The aunts provided for his education. The grandfather never acknowledged him as his grandson, much less the heir he was supposedly being groomed to become. It was well-known to all that he would inherit as soon as his grandfather passed."
"From what Hamish told me of his brother and his father," Mr. Watkins said, "it's a wonder a man as kind and honorable as my friend came from the same blood."
Lucky nodded. The rest of their luncheon passed quickly, and soon he and Mary were back in the office at Watkins Shipbuilding going over the rest of the details on the finishings list.
During a lull in the conversation, Lucky had hoped to make small talk and learn more about Mary-Michael. "I would never have known that you had a similar childhood to mine," he said.
"What makes you think we did?"
"You and I were orphaned at about the same age." He'd hoped the similar beginnings might soften her resolve against him, but it didn't seem to be. Mary-Michael Watkins was making it very difficult for him to breach her defenses. She was friendly with him, but only to a certain point. She seemed to be doing her best to keep him at a polite, professional arm's length. He wanted nothing more than to be given a reason to be impulsive and uninhibited, because he got the feeling she had never done anything like it before in her life.
"I don't see where that makes it similar. You had family to care for you. I did not."
"Lia was all I had. My aunt didn't want us. She begrudgingly allowed us to live there the few months we did. And even then she did it because it gave her access to the funds my sister and I inherited." Lucky remembered being ill and his nurse, Maura, dying trying to get him food. It wasn't until much later when he asked Lia about the memories that he learned the truth of it. How his aunt had tried to have them both killed.
"We didn't even have that. George and I had no place to call home. For months we slept in an empty barrel in an old warehouse, till we were discovered and had to move on. I stole food to feed us because my brother didn't have the heart to do it. So it's safe to say we didn't have a similar upbringing, Captain."
"I've given you leave to call me Lucky. Why won't you?"
She refused to look up at him, and continued with her notes on the last item under discussion. "It makes me uncomfortable."
"How so?" He could tell she struggled to find the right words, as though she were tempering her reply. He wanted to get her to open up to him and not keep him at such a distance. Especially since that day on the gangway of the Ajax.
She dipped her pen in the inkwell and tapped the droplet of excess ink off, then went on with her notations. Just when he thought she was ignoring his last question, she replied while continuing to write. "It denotes a level of familiarity that I am not prepared to engage in. I believe we should keep this a professional relationship. You are our client Captain Gualtiero."
"From the moment we met three days ago," he whispered, not wanting to disturb the men working in the antechamber, "I sensed something different about you. When you nearly fell and I... held you, I felt it. Something passed between us. Look at me." She lifted her gaze and the shock on her face from his intimate address told him she was as flustered as he. "Can you tell me, honestly, that you did not feel it as well?"
For whatever reason, it took her a moment to reply and Lucky took that as a good sign. "I—" she stammered before closing her eyes and breathing slowly. When she opened her eyes, her heart was telling him one thing while she spoke something entirely different. "I will remind you again that I am a married woman. So do not presume to speculate that I am unhappy in my relationship with my husband. I am not. Mr. Watkins is a very fine man. I owe him a great debt of gratitude, one I can never repay in this lifetime."
"I notice you don't say that you love him."
Her gaze turned fiery and she hissed, "I do love him, Captain."
Finally. A true emotional reply. He felt she'd been hiding her real emotions from the moment they'd met. And now that he had this little breakthrough he couldn't let it end here. He had to know if what he suspected was true. Wanted to hear it from her lips. "Like a father? Like a mentor?"
He leaned closer until his face was mere inches from hers and he felt her uneasy breathing and saw the hollow in her neck bob as she swallowed hard. He was close enough that only she could hear, as his voice dropped to just above a whisper. "Or a lover?"
The shock on her face said it all for him. He now had the answer to his question. She and her husband were not currently lovers. That isn't to say they'd never been, but she was a woman who needed a man as much as he wanted her.
But now he felt conflicted. Yes, he'd broken through the hard veneer of her reserve, and now that he had, he found himself wanting to love and cherish her, as she should be loved and cherished.
It was as though he could see into the private world that was Mary's relationship with her mentor, friend, and father-figure, Spenser Watkins. And if this man, a stranger to their village, could see it how many others could as well? Could that be why the odious constable made repeated offers of
a lurid affair? Did she somehow appear desperate since the children were taken away?
She hated that this stranger had brought her to the verge of tears. Especially after all the years of tempering her emotions and responses, to be a better business partner for her husband. Six-plus years of defending and protecting the decision she made to accept Mr. Watkins' proposition, could be brought down with one reckless mistake on her part. Now that the solution to her problem is at hand, she had to think this through carefully. All it would take is one accusation of adultery to ruin her world. Mary-Michael had to be very, very careful. Or she could lose everything because of a handsome Englishman who had a very high opinion of himself. And she could not let that happen.
It was very likely that he'd never been refused when he set his sights on bedding a woman, and that confidence was a great part of his charm. But just being in his presence flustered her. Sometimes she caught him studying her and his look made her insides as gooey as Sally's taffy.
Mary-Michael decided before she met this man, that if she were going to go through with this, it had to be with someone she felt an attraction to, and until Captain Gualtiero introduced himself, she had never met a man who stirred any romantic sentiments in her. In fact, just the week before, she wondered if such a man even existed. Especially as she considered Mr. Watkins' idea, and began to think about the traits she wanted from potential father of her child.
She wanted a handsome man, healthy in appearance and of fine form; and he had to be intelligent and industrious as well. But the most important criteria she'd decided upon, and Mr. Watkins agreed with her, was that the man not be from their community. She didn't want anyone ever speaking of their temporary liaison and suspecting himself the father of her child. This was her most crucial criteria, the one thing she was unwilling to compromise on.
No, she would do this on her own terms, and with a man she felt an attraction to. Not that she'd ever consider him, but the mere thought of someone like Potts touching her made Mary-Michael's skin crawl.