Hot Winds From Bombay

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  But Zack refused to let the matter drop. Slipping his hand under her chin, he raised her face to his and kissed her lips gently. There was no mistaking the deep shadow of worry in her usually clear eyes.

  “Something is wrong. Out with it! There’ll be no secrets between us, Persia Whiddington!”

  She shuddered slightly at the mention of secrets. Without realizing it, Zack had hit upon the exact nature of the problem. She didn’t want there to be secrets between them, either. And although her guilt at running away troubled her deeply, she understood in that moment that Zack had been keeping something from her. That was what bothered her most.

  “I agree, Zack. We should tell each other everything.”

  Silence followed her quiet statement. Zack thought she was working up the nerve to tell him what was troubling her, while in truth she was waiting for him to speak.

  Finally she said, “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  She didn’t want to have to pry it out of him. She wanted him to give to her freely, as she had given to him the night before. “Please, Zack, tell me what you meant… about the bet.”

  Persia watched a tense nerve throb at his temple. His eyes narrowed for the briefest moment just before his smile broadened to almost unnatural brightness.

  “Oh, that’s nothing. I shouldn’t even have mentioned it.”

  She kept her voice steady and quiet. “But you did mention it. Now, please explain.”

  “Darling, there really isn’t time for that,” he replied. “I’ve spoken to a minister who’s willing to marry us within the hour. But we have to hurry. He’s several blocks away, and the storm is getting worse. If we don’t leave now, he’ll be gone by the time we get to the church.”

  Zack’s words only served to bring out Persia’s stubborn streak. She dug in almost visibly, shaking her head slowly as she continued to stare at him.

  “If we miss him today, he can marry us tomorrow. After last night, a few hours or a few days will make little difference.”

  Zack felt the smile melt from his face. He knew he was frowning, but he couldn’t help his sour expression. What was she saying? Had she changed her mind?

  He cursed himself silently for having mentioned the bet at all. If he tried to explain at this point, he could only make matters worse. Still, he refused to begin their relationship with a lie. The wager had been the foolish act of a sailor ashore with too much rum in his belly after a long, dry voyage. Surely Persia would understand that. After all, her own father was a man of the sea.

  Zack took her hands in his and led her to a chair by the fire.

  “I’ll tell you what you want to know, but first you have to promise me something.”

  “What?”

  “Promise me that you will try to understand and forgive me. Promise?”

  A new kind of terror gripped her. Could it be that more had gone on between Zack and Europa than she had been led to believe? No! She couldn’t allow herself to imagine such thoughts. Still, if that was what Zack was about to tell her, she wasn’t sure she could live with the knowledge. She almost told him to forget her demands.

  Don’t explain anything. Don’t even talk. Just take me to the church. Marry me! Love me! The words were screaming in her brain and trembling on the tip of her tongue, begging to be spoken aloud, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them.

  “How can I promise I’ll understand when I have no idea what you’re about to tell me?” She reached out and touched his hand. “I promise I’ll try, though.”

  Her answer was not what Zack had hoped for, but there was no turning back now.

  He cleared his throat and began. “Persia, that first night I met you, I did something utterly stupid. Instead of going straight up and getting the rest I needed when I got to the tavern, I stopped off in the taproom. One of my shipmates was there and called me to join him. Mind you, I’m not blaming Enrico in any way. He tried to keep me in line. But there was a lot of backslapping and drink buying. They were all calling me a hero for saving Europa.”

  Seeing Persia wince at the mere mention of her sister’s name, Zack realized his task was going to be more difficult than he had imagined. But he plunged on.

  “To make a long story short, one of the other men in the bar bet me a fortune that I couldn’t get either you or Europa to agree to marry me within the week.”

  Persia felt a stab at her heart and caught her breath audibly. Tears of anger and disappointment pressed just behind her eyes. She wanted to scream at him, claw his face, tear out his eyes. But most of all, she wanted to die.

  How could any man have played such a cruel trick? To convince her to leave her family and run away with him. To tell her he loved her. To make love to her, using as his carrot on a stick his promise to marry her. And she, like the little fool she was, had gone right along with his plan. What was she supposed to do now?

  Her voice came in a cold rush of fury. “So you tried to convince Europa to go along with your scheme, and when that failed you turned to her silly little sister.”

  “Persia, no!” Zack cried. He dropped to his knees before her, gripping her arms. “No, that’s not the way it was! I never wanted Europa. I was trapped into the wager, in over my head before I even realized what the other fellow was proposing. By then, it was too late. The tavernkeeper had my purse—every cent I had in the world. I knew I loved you. Granted, it might have taken me longer to get around to asking you to marry me had it not been for the bet. But you have to believe me when I tell you that I would have. I love you!”

  Tears blurred her vision and she was aware of his face only as a dark form, silhouetted against the bright orange of the flames in the fireplace.

  “Do you love me more than you love Europa?”

  “Yes! I mean, no! I don’t love Europa. I never even thought I could love her.”

  “But you wagered that you could marry either of us. Why was that? If I hadn’t agreed, would you then have tried to convince my sister to be your wife? What kind of man are you? I don’t know you at all!”

  Her hysterics unnerved him. He rose and tried to take her in his arms to kiss her, but she turned her face away.

  Feeling defeated, he said hesitantly, “Persia, I’m the man who loves you… who loves only you.” He tried once more to capture her lips.

  “Please don’t!”

  He moved away. “Then you refuse to understand?”

  “It’s not that I refuse. I simply can’t understand such manipulation in the name of love.”

  “But it wasn’t manipulation. I did love you. I do love you The bet was simply something that happened, but had nothing really to do with the feelings I had for you already. Please, Persia, you have to believe me. Don’t do this to us.”

  “Me? What have I done? I’ve allowed myself to fall right into your trap. You should be grateful that you haven’t yet married me. You’re a rich man because of me. And since we aren’t married, you won’t have to support a wife.”

  “But I want to marry you!”

  “But maybe I don’t want to marry you any longer, Zachariah Hazzard!” She had been screaming, wanting to hurt him as he had hurt her. But now her voice went quiet and cold.

  “All right!” His tone echoed hers. He was not a man to beg. He had asked Persia and she had refused him. It hurt. “I’m going to leave you for a time and let you think all this through. But I want you to remember how it was last night… how our bodies sang in tune and our hearts beat against one another… how I fit into you as if you were the mold and I had been cast from it. It was good, Persia. You can’t deny that. I don’t want to lose you. But I won’t make a further fool of myself by staying here and groveling. If you decide you still want to be my wife, I’ll be at the Tail of the Devil Tavern. Remember, we have only an hour before the preacher leaves. If you haven’t come by then, I’ll go. And I won’t bother you again.”

  Persia stared up at him, her mouth open and her eyes wide.
She knew Zack was everything she wanted. But how could she give in to such an ultimatum?

  He hesitated at the door, waiting for her to speak. But her lips drew tightly together to close off any further communication. She refused even to look at him.

  He shrugged and turned the doorknob. “There’s money in my satchel if you decide you want to take the stage back to Maine.”

  “Take your satchel with you. I don’t want your ill- won money!” she raged. Then, remembering Fletcher’s gold piece, she added, “I can pay my own way home.”

  “Whatever you say.” His voice sounded dull and hopeless as he picked up his bag to leave. “Just remember this before you decide: I love you and I always will.”

  The click of the latch as he left was like a shot fired point-blank at her heart. Persia wanted to slump to the floor and sob the ache away. But there wasn’t time. She glanced at the clock: four twenty-five. Her whole destiny would be decided in the next hour.

  “So little time,” she murmured. But still, she could not make herself move. She sat where Zack had left her—stock still in the chair, staring into the fire.

  The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock.

  Zack jammed his fists deep into his pockets and bent his bare head into the windblown snow. His boots crunched loudly, caving in the ice-crusted drifts in great, angry bites. He was too angry and hurt and frustrated to feel the chill bite of the blizzard against his face. But the sensation he was most aware of was an aching emptiness.

  “Dammit,” he growled down into the collar of his coat. “You stupid, arrogant bastard!”

  Already he sensed that his show of stubbornness would get him nowhere with Persia. He should have handled everything differently. He should have explained about the bet before he ever brought her to Boston… before he ever made love to her. Then, if she’d turned him away, at least it wouldn’t have hurt so. He’d never have known what he was missing. He would have shipped out, and the memory of her engraved on his heart would have blurred with time. But after last night his very soul bore her mark. If she did not come to him, he would no doubt have other women in the coming years. But he knew he would never enjoy them as he had before. Not after last night. Not after Persia.

  He shouldered his way through the door of the tavern. The small room was thick with smoke from pipes and cigars and a faulty flue in the chimney. His eyes smarted, and the tears he was too much a man to shed over Persia now oozed from the corners of his eyes. He swiped at them angrily and shouted at the barkeep, “Goddammit, Clancey! I thought you were going to get that fireplace fixed before I made port again.”

  “Zachariah Hazzard?” bellowed the big-bellied man presiding behind the rough bar. “Can it be you, man? In the flesh? I was sure by now you’d been swallowed up by one of them monsters of the deep—or at the very least caught the pox and been put ashore to fester and die. Welcome home! Will you have an ale?”

  “Aye! In the biggest tankard you’ve got.”

  Their conversation was soon interrupted as two lean and leathery drifters in dark clothes came in and sidled up to the far end of the bar, speaking between themselves in whispers. After a quick glance in their direction, Zack went back to sipping his ale. He noticed that the same doxy he and Persia had seen entering the Tail of the Devil the day before was here again, but with a different sailor. He watched as she rose and took the man’s arm. She nodded to Zack as she came toward the bar to get a key for one of the rooms upstairs.

  “I’ll be down within the hour, mate, if you’re in need of anything.”

  The woman looked worn and well used. No doubt she was far younger than her lined and painted face made her seem. She had probably been pretty not many years back. And her cultured accent told Zack that she came from a higher class than most of the women of her profession. The thought flickered through his mind that perhaps she had once lived in a big white house similar to the one on Gay Street, and that perhaps it was some sailor’s misdeeds that had brought her down to this level. He felt a pang of guilt. He should go back to the boarding house and try to reason with Persia. If she still refused to marry him, it was his duty to see her safely home again before they parted.

  “Well, love?” the woman prompted. “Shall I meet you in an hour?”

  “Thank you, but no. I already have an engagement.”

  She arched a painted brow and drew her bright lips into a pout. “I’m the best on this side of Boston. Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure,” Zack answered. “I’m getting married this afternoon. But thanks anyway.”

  A strange look of envy crossed the woman’s face for the briefest instant before her forced smile returned. “Well, here’s a kiss for luck, mate. And should your bride be a bit tender a few days from now, you know where to find me.”

  After a quick peck at his cheek, the woman escorted her customer up the stairs and out of sight.

  Zack glanced at his pocketwatch. Four forty-seven and still no Persia. He would give her until five-fifteen. If she hadn’t come by then, he would go back to their room and offer to see her home. He placed the watch on the bar, inside one of the damp circles left by his tankard. He sipped his ale and watched, mesmerized, as the hands crept slowly toward five.

  So fascinated did Zack become with the physical passing of time, he never noticed when the barkeep spoke quietly to the disreputable-looking pair down the bar and then pointed in his direction before accepting their gold. He didn’t see the two men, their unshaven faces shadowed by brimmed hats, as they sidled ever closer to where he stood. It was not until he felt a hard hand on his arm that he looked up. But by then it was too late.

  His last vision contained an odd collection of impressions: half the grinning face of the barkeep hidden behind a thick, hairy arm raised over him, and fingers with dirty nails clenched around a length of black pipe. These things in his line of sight meant nothing; they had no connection in his mind. By the time he heard the crack of his own skull, felt the trickle of blood down his face, and then the pain, all vision had faded.

  One final word escaped with his breath as he sank to the floor: “Persia.”

  When the little clock chimed five, bringing Persia out of her daze of misery, she realized it was almost too late. Whatever demons had plagued her, allowing her to let Zack leave, had also used up precious time with their tormenting folly.

  Of course she wanted to marry Zack! She couldn’t just let him walk out of her life. She loved him! He was her man!

  Like a slender birch tree suddenly whipped by a brisk wind, Persia whirled out of her chair and into action, her heart light and her mind made up. Zack was absolutely right—they were meant for each other. And their love was strong enough to weather any storm. She would not allow a ridiculous wager, jealousy of her sister, family ties, or even her own stubbornness to stand in the way of her happiness.

  Quickly she changed into warmer clothes, brushed her hair, and pulled on her coat, aware that only minutes remained before Zack would leave the Tail of the Devil and she might never see him again. She refused to let herself feel anxious. She would make it in time, and they would go directly to the minister. An hour from now, they would be Mr. and Mrs. Zachariah Hazzard. And before the night was through, she would once again know his love and his body and the ecstasy that both brought her.

  The landlady tried to stop her for a chat—asking if they would be in for supper and if there was anything else they needed—but Persia was uncharacteristically brusque with the woman, sweeping past her with hardly a word. Outside, the storm still raged, but she made haste as best she could. The ache of the cold cut through her body, making every step painful, every breath labored.

  How far was the Tail of the Devil Tavern? She couldn’t remember exactly. It had seemed no distance at all the day before, but then they had been in the sleigh. Afoot in a blizzard was an entirely different matter. She trudged on, praying she would be in time.

  Her heart pounded faster when s
he glanced up and saw the swinging sign ahead. No one seemed to be about. Perhaps in this awful weather, Zack would be the tavern’s only customer. She hoped so. She would find it most unsettling to run into a woman like the one they had seen yesterday.

  Persia hurried on but stopped three buildings away when she saw the door of the tavern open and a thin shaft of light creep across the snow. The sound of boisterous voices made her shrink back into the shadows of a warehouse entrance. She peered cautiously around the doorframe.

  Three men—two of them supporting their drunken friend—came out into the twilight gloom. The man in the middle, who was really only a dark shape to her from where she stood, seemed unconscious from drink. His arms were draped over the shoulders of the other men and his boots dragged along in the snow, making deep ruts. She shuddered. How could she enter such a place? What if Zack had left already and she came upon more men such as these?

  She stayed secluded in her doorway until the three men disappeared in the direction of the wharves. Then, taking a deep breath to bolster her courage, she headed for the tavern door at the fastest clip she could manage.

  Shoving the door open with no small amount of effort, she was assaulted by the stale, smoky air and an acrid odor that stung her eyes. For a few moments, she could see nothing at all except the fire roaring on the hearth.

  “See here, ma’am, this ain’t no place for a lady.” The gruff voice boomed at her from somewhere deep inside the reeking cavern.

  “I realize that,” she answered, speaking only to the gloom. “But I’m to meet someone here.”

  “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but you must be mistaken. There’s not a soul in the place but me.” The unseen man laughed in a disconcerting tone. “If it’s me you’re looking for, the saints be praised! But it’s been a few years since anyone as fetching as you gave me the time of day.”

  Time of day. The familiar phrase leapt out at her as if she had never heard it before in her life.

  “What time is it, please?” Persia asked.