“I cannot but worry about you,” she said. “I want to be your wife and live out my days loving the ocean, not despising it because it took you away from me.”
Mason grazed her forehead with a kiss and lightly trailed more down the side of her face, across her cheeks to her lips. She felt the fiery intensity of his emotions deepen, and she gladly returned the same depth of fervency. Silently, Jule begged for his kiss to last forever. In the same breath, she knew and understood the dangers of surrendering to passion and ignoring God’s plan for a man and a woman. She mustered the strength to pull herself from him and saw his eyes moisten. Her captain, her handsome, beloved captain. Whoever thought the day he sailed to Bolivar Point and met Jule that their relationship would blossom into love?
She touched her fingertips to his lips and swallowed any semblance of tears. “When must you set sail?” she asked.
“In three weeks.”
She stepped back to view Mason completely, to burn his image into her mind forever. Dressed fashionably, he wore a chocolate brown, tailed jacket and trousers over a double-breasted brown and dotted cream vest. At the neck of a crisp white shirt, he had tied a blue silk scarf. But beneath the finery dwelled a rugged, strong man who carried himself with the confidence of his hope in God. How proud she felt of him choosing her among the many belles of Galveston—she, Jule Portier, a shy, timid young woman who never dreamed the most eligible bachelor in southern Texas would set his sights on her.
“Say something,” he urged with a chuckle. “You look a thousand miles away.”
Jule felt her cheeks flush, and she glanced down at the white sand at her feet then up into his face again. “I am so blessed to have you,” she whispered. “I can’t stop you from taking this voyage—”
“The last voyage,” he interrupted.
She smiled and brushed back a lock of hair that the wind had coaxed from beneath her bonnet. “Please take care of yourself. I love you too much to have you taken from me before our wedding.”
He returned her smile and squeezed her hands lightly. “Again, I promise. Now,” he reached for her waist and lifted her high into the air, “no more talk of such gloom. We have dinner at my parents’ house this evening, and I want to show you how far the construction has come on our home.”
Jule listened to Mason talk eagerly about the building of their house. He had called it home, but she couldn’t bring herself to think of it as anything but a massive structure. She had spent the last ten years of her life in the two-story clapboard home beside the lighthouse on Bolivar Point. They lived simply—her parents, a younger brother, Joshua, and Jule—on her father’s meager income as a lighthouse attendant. All the wealth associated with Mason’s family made her feel uncomfortable, and she fretted constantly about committing social blunders. Now the house…Perhaps once it reached completion, and she and Mason were married, she could refer to it as home. Meanwhile, she must continue to feign enthusiasm for his parents’ current project.
Captain Thomas Channing, one of the most affluent men on Galveston Island, had retired some years ago as a sea captain to start his own import/ export business. With his never-satisfied ambition, he had accumulated more money than most folks deemed proper. Esther Channing, his wife, had no problem spending it. The house for Mason and Jule came as a desire for both parents to give their only son and his bride-to-be a lavish gift. Esther chose the house’s design and planned to supervise the interior design. Thomas relinquished a large percentage of his business to Mason. Knowing the reputed volatile temperament of her future father-in-law, Jule guessed Mr. Channing had demanded Mason sail to insure his cargo arrived at the designated ports in the minimum amount of time.
Jule shuddered, recalling the stories often told in public gatherings about Mason. Young Captain Channing possessed a reputation for taking risks and riding out storms in open defiance of the sea’s wrath. As did all clipper captains, Mason viewed wind as speed, and speed as time and money. Some said Mason needed a dose of good sense. Others claimed his father drove him to make foolish decisions in the name of money. Thomas Channing had a hold on Mason—almost like a hand around his throat— constantly reminding him of the wealth to come only if he measured up to his father’s expectations. And that is what scared Jule the most: Mason’s consuming desire to please his father.
Once, she asked him why he took so many chances and dared the sea to engulf him and his faithful crew. His reply had alarmed her.
“Because, sometimes when the captain is being so overpowering, I forget my real trust is in God. Unfortunately, I fear my father more than our Maker,” he’d answered gravely, avoiding her eyes. “It’s not his money or station in life; I care naught for those things.” He shook his head as though denying his inner turmoil. “I have never earned real approval from the captain…and it pushes me to do everything over and beyond his expectations.”
At the time, Jule wondered where she fit into Mason’s life. Certainly other women were more comely, talented, and well-positioned socially. Inwardly, she wondered if his choice of her involved a slender thread of rebellion.
“You are the one treasure that no one can take from me, except God,” he’d added. “For my father, I risk my life. For you, I would gladly step into the threshold of death.”
“Why me?” she’d asked, taken back by her own boldness.
Jule would never forget his response, the shimmer of love in his stormy blue eyes and a strange, faraway glint of something she had yet to claim.
“You are my joy and my blessing. In you I see all I want to be—gentle, kind, faithful to God, selfless, and with a hidden strength that draws me like the allure of a huge wave. I can confide in you as my friend, tell you anything, and not risk ridicule.” He smiled. “It does not matter who I am or what is associated with my name; you love me. Jule, you are beauty in its richest form.” Then Mason had removed his derby hat, bent on one knee, and proposed marriage.
Now, as he grasped her hand firmly, she realized her place belonged beside him for as long as God allowed.
“Shall we walk along the shoreline?” Mason asked. “We have nearly an hour before leaving.”
“Of course.” Jule linked her arm into his, and they strode across the sand.
The ever-present breeze across the gulf played with the scarf tying her bonnet under her chin, while a stronger gust rustled her skirts. The peninsula of Bolivar Point held the distinction of bearing a constant wind from the ocean; it never ceased. Sand lightly pelted against her face, and she turned to avoid its sting.
“Would you rather walk back to the house?” he suggested. “I don’t enjoy the prospect of the wind tossing you into the water.”
Jule laughed. “No, this breeze is a part of me.”
She faced the water and closed her eyes. Breathing in the salty air, she allowed it to rest upon her tongue while the sun warmed her face. Seagulls glided and circled above them, calling out to each other and dipping into the sea for a fresh fish. Jule longed for a few stale biscuits from the house to toss into the air so she could watch the birds swoop down to grasp one in their beaks. The rhythmic sound of billowing waves tumbling against the shore momentarily eased the unpleasant news of Mason’s departure.
“You love the sea as much as I do,” he said, slipping his hand around her waist.
“Aye, Captain,” she replied, and they both laughed at her attempt to sound like his first mate. “But I am content to admire its many moods, not submerge myself in it.”
A fishing boat crossed in the distance. The sails dipped up and down as though it rocked aimlessly without cause or reason. A part of her envied the sea’s sway and pull. There were no choices to be made; life simply moved on.
“As a little boy,” Mason began, “I remember watching my mother gaze out over the sea. She spent the early mornings and twilight looking for signs of my father’s ship. The sadness in her face always made me angry with him. Once I actually told him how I felt about his being gone for months at a time.”
They walked farther up the white sandy beach. “What did he say?” Jule asked, unable to picture Mason challenging his father about anything.
He chuckled and puffed up his stomach to imitate the senior Captain Channing. In a deep voice typical of the man, he said, “My boy, don’t you know that what you fear most will come upon you? If I succumb to your mother’s whims, then the sea has run me off. I am not afraid of it, and neither should she be.”
“Sounds like him,” Jule said.
“My father, the old walrus,” Mason added. “But I do love and respect him, although his opinions drive me to distraction.”
“You shouldn’t talk about him,” Jule chided, catching a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “You owe him your respect.”
“Yes, ma’am, but you take a good look at him tonight at dinner and see if he doesn’t remind you of a walrus.”
Silently, Jule had to agree. Thomas Channing did resemble a walrus with his wiry mustache, fleshy jaws, and bushy sideburns. The remainder of his body had grown rather portly in his land-loving days, as well.
Much too soon, their walk came to an end. They tramped up the sandy mounds in the direction of the Portier house and Bolivar Point Lighthouse.
“Have you done all of your chores?” Mason asked. “I wouldn’t want your father complaining about dirty lanterns in the lighthouse.”
“Today is Joshua’s turn,” she said with a nod. “Tomorrow is mine.”
“May I help you?” he asked, patting her arm that still entwined with his. “We have three weeks, and I want to be with you every minute possible.”
“What about your father? I thought he wanted you with him tomorrow?”
Mason frowned. “Surely he can’t expect me to spend all of my time on the docks for the next three weeks.”
Jule recognized Mason’s growing resentment of his father. “Mason, are you sure you want to spend the rest of your life managing goods shipped in and out of Galveston Bay?”
He sighed deeply and avoided meeting her gaze. “No,” he replied, “not in the least.”
Chapter 2
Jule’s heart hammered against her chest, and she shook in dread, much like discontented waves caught up in the fury of a storm. The sea. Mason loved the sea too much to give it up…not even for her.
“What is it you want to do?” she asked, willing her quivering voice to steady. She wanted to gaze into the depths of his blue-gray eyes, but she could not bear to see the truth.
“I would like to have my own shipbuilding company,” he replied. “I have sailed the finest clippers Father could buy, and I’ve observed what makes them withstand the turbulent sea and sail faster than any vessel on earth. I am particularly fond of the square-riggers—windjammers. Oh, Jule, to build such seaworthy ships would give me great pleasure.”
Relief flowed through her body. “What a splendid idea,” Jule managed to say, and she meant it.
He met her smile, and like a boy, his dreams gushed from within. “I realize I’ve probably told you this before, but I’ve been sailing with my father since I was twelve years old. Later at eighteen, I took over one of his ships. While on board or docked at various ports, I often spend my time studying clippers and the proper way to build them. The construction of these vessels intrigues me. There’s a renowned Boston builder who owns a shipyard, and whenever I’m there, I like to see his latest designs. It’s always been a dream of mine, but now, I want to embark upon it before it is too late. Eventually the steamships will power the oceans.”
“Then you should do it now,” she stated.
“My father would be furious,” Mason added. “In his mind, he will be the captain till the day he dies—barking orders and expecting everyone around him to cower and obey.” He paused before beginning again. “I have the money…”
“Oh, Mason, you would be perfect,” she said, feeling giddy with the excitement of him sharing his dreams.
He kissed the tip of her nose and laughed. “You believe I can do anything.”
“Absolutely.” She laughed with him. “It’s part of my role as your future wife.”
His handsome features suddenly grew grave. “If I fail at this venture, we will be penniless,” he warned. “You understand Father would gloat over my foolishness, and I would be forced to return to the sea.”
“I refuse to think about such a thing. You are clever and a hard worker. I firmly believe God does not give us dreams unless He intends for us to follow through with them. But no matter the outcome, we will journey though life together and make the best of whatever God wills.”
The tiny lines around his eyes deepened as he appeared to contemplate her words. “Your faith is stronger than mine, Jule, and perhaps you are right in your notion. I will pray about the matter before informing my father. Of course, the conversation with him needs to occur before I set sail.”
Mason stopped to shield his eyes from the sun while Jule followed his gaze to the lighthouse. The mounting heat of mid-June glistening against the black-and-white painted structure gave it a regal glow. “Just like your lighthouse is strong and built to withstand the worst of storms, so is my father. He may refuse to complete our home. I can provide well for you, very well, in fact, but our home would not be as grand.” He peered at her, waiting for an answer.
“Mason, I have never enjoyed the wealth you have. It matters less to me whether we live in a mansion or a shack near the bay. What is important is for you to follow your dreams and for me to be beside you.”
A broad smile spread across his face. “Then I will proceed with talking to Father—after I have consulted God.”
Jule felt his elation, and his experiences at sea certainly qualified him to own a shipbuilding company. At the age of seventeen, Mason had secured his mate papers, and by the age of twenty he’d received his master’s certificate. Now at age thirty-two, Mason had captured the respect of men and the hearts of women. Young and old admired his chivalry and daring deeds on the high seas. Despite all this, Mason generally allowed his father to have his own way. And yet, she did sense a need for him to separate himself from his father’s influence.
Few saw the control the elder Channing possessed over his son, but Jule had noted it on more than one occasion. It saddened her, and she wanted to talk to Mason about it…but she believed God should direct his life.
“I guess we ought to be leaving soon,” Mason said. “Mother will be expecting us. Do you have your things ready?”
Jule nodded. The distance between Bolivar Point and Galveston Bay laid claim to nearly three miles, and Mason requested that she stay at his parents’ home until the morning rather than have him row her home in the dark. Twice before she had spent the night at the three-story Victorian mansion. The home’s elegant furnishings and original art disquieted her, especially with her lack of appropriate attire. Even the servants dressed better than she did.
As she thought of her light blue, faded Sunday frock, humiliation crept over her like a winter chill. She had worn it the other two occasions when she had been a guest for dinner, simply because she had no other. Regretfully, Esther Channing had a distinct way of raising her chin and regarding her rather disdainfully down the tip of a long, pointed nose. Jule dare not think what might be said tonight when she stepped into the formal dining room with her three-year-old dress. She shouldn’t care. God didn’t measure her worth by the clothes she wore, but to look pleasing in Esther Channing’s eyes meant Jule might someday be accepted as a member of the family. Even now, the voice of Mrs. Channing echoed around Jule, making sure she heard the stories about the many young women who had paraded in front of Mason and vied for his attention.
Jules shook off such thoughts as she and Mason climbed the steps of the porch to the clapboard house she called home. Her mother greeted Mason warmly and ushered them inside. The tall, large-boned woman took giant strides across the small parlor to a rounded-back sofa and two chairs in various shades of deep brown with frayed coverings.
“J
ule’s papa and brother are out with the fishing boat,” she explained, positioning herself on the edge of a chair.
Mason and Jule sat on the sofa, sinking deep into the worn cushions. “Mrs. Portier, it is not necessary for your husband to be present when I come calling on Jule, although I would have enjoyed talking with him,” Mason replied.
Jule’s mother patted her silver spun hair pulled back tightly into a netted bun at the nape of her neck. “You are so considerate, Mr. Channing.”
“Mason, please call me Mason. After all, we will be family soon.”
A smile spread across her mother’s tanned face, and she turned her attention to Jule. “Mind you, daughter, this is a fine man here, and I expect you to be a dutiful wife.”
Jule suppressed her inward glee out of respect for her mother. “Yes, ma’am. I will do my best.”
Her mother seemed nervous and resorted to smoothing the wrinkles in her dress rather than fussing with her hair. Jule felt compassion for her, knowing how much love and sacrifice she devoted to their family and how she desired the best for them all. No matter how many times Jule and Mason insisted that they would be happy to have a small wedding with simply the minister present, her mother fretted that it would not satisfy the Channings’ ideas of what was necessary for their only son.
“Mother, we should be going. Do you mind?” Jule asked.
“No, of course not. And you will be home before noon tomorrow?” Her mother sighed. “I fret with you spending the night.”
“It is quite all right,” Mason interceded gently. “This is my mother’s invitation, and I believe she has a surprise for my future bride.”
Jule’s eyes widened. “What kind of a surprise?”
Her mother wagged a finger. “Look at you, like a little girl wanting to know secrets.” She stood and addressed Jule. “Gather your things and go on across the bay before the afternoon sun sets.”
Jule entered the kitchen where the steps led to her bedroom. She hesitated before facing her mother. “Give Papa my love,” she said. “And please remind him I want to tend the lighthouse tomorrow night. He needs a good night’s rest.”
Lighthouse Brides Collection Page 28