by Leigh Duncan
“Watch your step,” he cautioned as Tara moved to the railing overlooking the ocean. Though the slate looked dry, appearances could be deceiving.
Tara nimbly picked her way to the rail. “Is this where Mary stood to watch for Thaddeus’s ship?”
“In all likelihood, yes.” Tara had chosen a spot that provided the best view. “In her day and age, wives with sea-faring husbands kept one eye on the horizon and one eye on their children.”
The pages of Tara’s notebook ruffled in a gusty wind. In fits and starts, the breeze tugged strands of hair from her ponytail and sent them streaming out behind her in twisting ribbons. He longed to capture them in his hands, but a renewed promise to keep his emotional distance stilled his fingers. To avoid temptation, he forced his focus on the birds that wheeled and turned above the waves. He pointed out a porpoise that broke the surface of the water. Below them, bikers and the occasional jogger moved along the path that followed the curve of the land.
“Do you spend a lot of time out here?” Tara asked after they’d lingered at the railing for a while.
“Not as much as I’d like, but I make a point of it when the fog rolls in. On mornings when it’s thick as clam chowder, the railing disappears, and it’s just you and the mists. They deaden the sound of the ocean.” He liked days like that, when the damp fog wrapped him in a blanket. “A passing ship blew its fog horn one time, and I swore it was right on top of me.”
“I’d like to see that. If I lived at the Cottage, this would be one of my favorite spots.”
“It could use a little sprucing up.” Other than the occasional coat of fresh paint, the secluded area remained exactly as it had been in Mary’s day. The wooden railing and the slate tiles were a history unto themselves, but they didn’t create much atmosphere. Nothing prevented him from hauling a couple of lounge chairs out onto the deck, though. He could install a cabinet and stock it with snacks and beverages. Maybe add one of those round tables with a wide umbrella to protect Tara from the sun’s rays.
He stopped himself. His thoughts had veered toward a cliff, something they’d started doing whenever a certain blonde was near.
Standing beside him, she mopped her face with one hand. “I can almost feel the salt spray on my face.”
He pointed to a dark bank of clouds that had moved closer. “It’s probably time to go in.” He turned toward the door. Tiles that had been bone dry only moments before now bore a wet sheen. “Careful,” he warned, just as Tara skidded on a damp spot.
One second she was standing upright. The next, her foot went out from under her. Without giving it a second’s thought, he reached for her. Once he had her, though, he couldn’t let go. His arms pulled her close to his chest as if they had a will of their own. Tara’s breath hitched so hard and so fast, he felt it. His own heart responded with a pounding beat.
As gently as if she were a skittish colt, he held her at arm’s length. His gaze rose from her lips to search her eyes for permission to do the one thing he’d sworn he wouldn’t do—kiss her. Soft and pliant in his grasp, Tara stared up at him while her breath came in quick gasps. When her eyes filled with the same yearning he felt, he bent low, intending only to place a single chaste kiss on her lips. If that led to more, well…
“Hey! Everything okay up there?”
He froze at the sound of a familiar voice.
As if someone had doused her with a bucket of cold water, Tara flinched.
“We shouldn’t. We can’t,” she whispered.
Not sure what he’d been thinking but certain he’d been on the verge of making a huge mistake, he let his hands fall. Like two people who’d wandered too close to a hot oven, he and Tara took a few hasty steps away from one another.
He gazed over the railing at the path below. An audible groan worked its way up from his chest when he spotted his cousin, one hand cupped over her eyes, staring up at them. He should have expected nothing less. Evelyn had always had impeccable timing. No matter what he was up to, whenever he stood on the cusp of making an important decision, she put in an appearance.
“We’re fine,” he called down. As fine as two people who’d almost made a huge mistake could be.
“The rain’s due to start any minute.” Evelyn’s warning floated on the fitful wind. “Things might get rough.”
He lifted a hand. He’d gotten the message, loud and clear, and it had nothing to do with the weather. He turned, hoping Tara would understand, but only air filled the space where she’d been standing seconds earlier. A flash of color at the door told him she’d headed inside without him. Three long strides took him to the opening. He ducked into the attic.
He spied her across the room near the bookcase. Even in the dim light, he could see the tension that radiated in the set of her shoulders, her carriage. Knowing he owed her another apology, he closed the space between them. “About what just happened—” he began, determined to dive right in.
“Nothing happened.” Tara spun to face him. “I slipped. You caught me. The story ends right there.”
“But…” He longed to tell her that it was more than that, or it could have been.
“Nothing happened,” she repeated, her voice firm and uncompromising. “I admit I’m attracted to you. I have been from the first moment I saw you. I think you feel the same.” At his nod, she continued. “But neither of us can afford to let our feelings get in the way of the jobs we have to do. There’s too much at stake. My career is on the line.”
“Heart’s Landing’s reputation hangs in the balance,” he said dutifully.
She sighed and gazed over his shoulder as if looking into the distant future. “My job hinges on this assignment. I can’t risk it all on what might just be a passing temptation. Nothing is going to happen between us now.”
He swallowed. Tara had just said all the things he’d been saying to himself ever since she’d arrived in Heart’s Landing. He should be relieved, but when he checked his gut, he couldn’t ignore the frisson of happiness that had passed through him when she’d admitted she was drawn to him as much as he was to her.
“You’re right,” he agreed, surprised when he sounded far calmer than his racing pulse made him feel. “We’ll put this, whatever it is, on the shelf for now. To be examined later, if we want.” But make no mistake, when later came, he’d be the first to unwrap that box.
Tara turned toward the bookcase. Running her fingers over the spines, she browsed through a stack of books. “What are these?” she asked, unearthing a couple from the bottom of the pile. Dust filled the air when she blew softly on the cover. “These are Mary’s diaries, aren’t they?”
He squinted at the unfamiliar script and the initials embossed in the leather cover before he nodded.
“Would it be all right if I took these to my room to read?”
He should refuse her request. He should at least read through them first. As much as he loved history, he’d never done more than page through the first few entries in his great-great-great-grandmother’s journals. Plus, he’d made it a policy that the books and journals had to remain in the attic or in the library. But Tara was special. Though she’d come to Heart’s Landing to evaluate the town, he’d seen the way she reacted to every business they’d visited. He’d heard her quiet murmurs of approval when she’d tasted one of Nick’s cakes at the bakery. Her eyes had practically glowed when she’d smelled the flowers in Forget Me Knot. He could trust her to have Heart’s Landing’s best interests at heart. Not that he had anything to worry about. From the little he’d seen, Mary’s diaries were nothing more than daily reports on her children with a few recipes tucked in for good measure.
“Why not?” He shrugged and offered to carry the books downstairs for her.
Outside, water dripped steadily from the eaves. Rain pelted the library’s thick glass windows. In the distance, branches of the weeping willows bent and swayed in time with g
usts of wind. Opposite Tara, Jason leaned on the table using his arms as props for his wide shoulders. The ship’s logs stood in neat stacks between them.
“Okay, what’s the goal here?” he asked, pen at the ready.
She pulled her lower lip inward, then let it slide slowly between her front teeth. Jason’s presence in the library had its plusses and minuses. He probably knew more about Captain Thaddeus than anyone and, with his dark hair, rugged physique, and piercing gaze, she couldn’t think of anyone’s company she’d rather share on a rainy afternoon. On the other hand, there was the little matter of lying to the man she thought she might be falling in love with.
Well, not exactly lying. But she’d definitely kept the true purpose for her presence in Heart’s Landing a secret. With her job—her entire career—on the line, she didn’t have much choice, did she? She could carry out her assignment for Weddings Today, destroy Captain Thaddeus’s reputation, and earn the promotion she’d worked so hard to get. Or she could fail to find the proof she needed, get herself fired, and have to crawl back home to Savannah. At the thought of admitting that her parents had been right to question her career choice, she cringed. She’d be lucky if they gave her a job bussing tables in the family restaurant.
Either choice spelled disaster. Choosing Door Number One meant destroying any faith Jason might have in her and what little hope they had of ever having a future together. But Door Number Two wasn’t much better. If she opted for that one, she’d end up in Savannah, at the other end of the country from a man who didn’t believe in long-distance relationships. So, no. She couldn’t miss out on her one big opportunity at Weddings Today. Not for a love as impossible as hers and Jason’s.
Straightening, she gave him the answer she’d prepared. “All the previous articles on Heart’s Landing have focused on the services the town provides for the brides and grooms who choose to hold their weddings here. Mine will include that, of course, but I also want to give our readers a sense of history. I want them to know how Heart’s Landing came into being and why it’s become America’s Top Wedding Destination. To do that, I have to learn all there is to know about Captain Thaddeus’s and Mary’s love for one another.”
“You think you’ll find what you’re looking for in his ship’s logs?” Jason’s eyebrows rose in what could only be described as a skeptical glance.
“I’ve only read about half of the journals, but I ran across several mentions of the stone hearts Thaddeus carved for Mary. At least, I think I did.” Between the stilted prose, the ornate penmanship, and the fact that the logs were written on a rolling ship, she’d had trouble deciphering some of the passages.
“You don’t need to plow through all these to get what you’re after.” Jason gestured toward the log books. “The pageant on Saturday will tell you everything you need to know.”
“That’s only a reenactment. Someone else’s interpretation.” She prided herself on doing her own research. “I want to share his experiences through his eyes. I need to know what it was like to spend days on end sailing beneath clear skies in order to appreciate how horrible it must have been when huge waves broke over the sides of the ship. Understanding the sheer monotony of a normal day will make me more aware of the terror that must have filled the crew when the captain ordered them to sail straight into a hurricane.”
Jason nodded slowly. “I get it. I do. When I was fifteen, I took one of the Cottage’s Beetle Cats out on my own. I was young and stupid and didn’t pay attention to the weather until it was too late. The storm caught me just off the point. It tossed that little sailboat around for a couple of hours like it was a piece of driftwood.”
She tried to imagine what it must’ve been like for him, alone on the ocean, buffeted by the wind and rain, lightning striking all around. Her hand trembled. She couldn’t imagine a world without him in it. “Do you still sail?”
“I do.” He nodded. “But I’m more careful. A lot more.” He stared at the stacks of journals and ledgers. “How can I help?”
She tapped a pencil against the desk. She was walking a perilous tightrope by working with Jason. He’d never forgive her if she succeeded at what she’d set out to do. He’d never forgive himself if he helped her. “Don’t you have something else you need to do?” she suggested. “This can’t be the only thing on your agenda today.”
“I promised to take you up to the widow’s walk and help you with your research. I always keep my promises. So, where do I start?” He slid gracefully onto the chair next to her.
Well, she’d tried to talk him out of it. With about as much success as she’d had when she’d tried to talk herself out of falling for him. She inhaled slowly. “You probably know these logs better than anyone. Could you help me go through them and earmark the references Captain Thaddeus made to his wife’s birthday?”
She’d given up on disproving the legend of the stone hearts. In numerous entries, Captain Thaddeus had mentioned working on them. She knew for a fact they existed. She’d personally seen them mounted on buildings throughout the town.
That left the hurricane. Legend had it that one fall the captain had braved howling winds and high seas in order to reach port in time for his wife’s birthday. Official weather reports dating back that far were sketchy, at best. According to those still in existence, only one strong October storm had come as far north as Rhode Island during the late 1800s. So far, she’d been unable to find an account of it in any of the Mary Shelby’s log books. But she’d have to if she was going to debunk the myth that the captain had loved his wife so much that he’d risked his life, his ship, and his crew for her.
“Glad to help.” Jason took the first journal from the stack and began paging through it. Five pages in, he marked a spot with a scrap of paper.
An hour passed. Then, two. Occasionally, she’d interrupt to ask for Jason’s help in deciphering a word or phrase. Sometimes, he’d read an excerpt from a particularly exciting passage aloud. Together, they spent the afternoon poring over the remaining ship’s logs. Four hours later, she was no closer to finding what she needed than she had been at the start.
Only one of the journals remained on the table. She reached for it. According to the first entry, the captain started the book in 1897. This account offered little change from the minutia of daily life onboard the Mary Shelby recounted in all the other journals. Following Jason’s advice to pay attention to every detail, she scanned the bills of lading, inventories, and nightly distributions of the crew’s rum. Captain Thaddeus’s report of making port in New York where the crew off-loaded cargo and took on fresh supplies varied little from previous accounts. The only difference being that, at some point, the Captain had acquired a new pen. The finer point made his handwriting even more difficult to decipher, and she squinted as she continued reading after the ship weighed anchor on October 10th, bound for Heart’s Landing.
She’d nearly reached the end of the journal when she stumbled across a passage about a storm. Her breath caught. Her grip on the aged leather tightened. This had to be the event she’d been searching for. Sticking her finger in the log book to hold her place, she tapped Jason on the shoulder. “Listen to this.” She read the section aloud.
We encountered a squall at eight bells of the morning watch. The crew reefed the sails without delay. While rain fell in thick sheets, I kept nose of the Mary S headed into the wind. By the afternoon watch, we were past the worst of it. The crew having comported themselves well, we suffered no loss of life nor cargo. God willing, the Mary S shall drop anchor in Heart’s Landing on the morrow.
She let the cover fall closed. “Well, that was a bit of a letdown. Not much of a hurricane, was it?”
Jason studied her, amusement shining in his dark eyes. “What did you expect?”
From the man who’d taken four pages to tell about the visit of a pod of whales? Who’d described the gleaming scales of flying fish in such detail she could see them if
she closed her eyes? “After all the hype, a more detailed accounting at the very least. Where are the monstrous waves crashing over the deck? The blinding rain? The howling winds?”
“Thaddeus was a ship’s captain, not a dime novelist. His reports are a bit dry and to the point.”
She tugged on the end of her ponytail. The strands slipped through her fingers. As far as swashbuckling tales of terror on the high seas went, the account left a lot to be desired. Growing up in Savannah, she was no stranger to hurricanes. They were massive storms that stretched out from a central eye in a series of rings. While the winds around the eye could topple buildings and uproot trees, the feeder bands on the outer edges were often little more than summer squalls. According to the legend, Captain Thaddeus had sailed his ship straight through a hurricane to reach port. But from his report, it sounded like the Mary S had only encountered one of the weaker bands.
Was that enough to undermine the captain’s reputation? She shook her head. No one could deny that Thaddeus had sailed through rough weather. Quibbling over whether or not he’d faced the worst of the storm would make Weddings Today look small-minded and mean. Her heart sank lower as she thumbed through the journal. As much as she wanted to save her job, it was time to throw in the towel. Despite all the nights she’d spent paging through the ship’s logs, and despite Jason’s help, she’d found no proof, no evidence that would destroy the legend of Captain Thaddeus.
Quite the contrary. In every reference, the good captain professed his love for Mary. He had chosen stone for the hearts he carved for her so they’d last for generations, like his love for her. He’d sailed his ship through a hurricane—or at least the outer edges of one—to reach port for his wife’s birthday.
Regina had demanded that she destroy the legend, and she’d done her best to carry out the editor’s wishes. She’d failed because her boss had been wrong. Thaddeus and Mary’s love for one another had indeed been strong enough to form the foundation of Heart’s Landing.