by Jo Goodman
"Can't help but notice," Cam said stubbornly. "She tried to hide it, but some days she's just so sad that you can't miss it."
"We can't make it our affair. There's a sayin', boy, and you're seein' the truth of it now: marry in haste, repent at leisure."
Cam grimaced. He had no appreciation for Captain Riddle's truisms. "The point is that if Mr. McClellan don't have a care he's going to lose her."
Jack gave a short hearty laugh. "You'll take her away, will you?"
"I might," he said firmly, thrusting out his chin for good measure.
"Don't you let Noah hear you say that. A man has his pride."
Cam knew he was being ribbed. The captain didn't believe for a moment that he was a threat to Noah McClellan's pride. His own pride injured, Cam held back from telling Riddle that there were other men on the Clarion who had similar thoughts about Noah's indifference to his wife. Only a few days ago he had heard Ross Booker tell Henry Alder that maybe Mrs. McClellan was missing a real man in her bed now that Noah was prowling the deck at night. Henry had put his fist squarely in Ross's gut and Cam never heard Ross say anything about Mrs. McClellan again, but he did notice that Booker's eyes followed Jessa whenever she was on deck. "If Mr. Noah wants to keep what he has, then he should have a care. That's all I'm sayin'."
"That almost sounds like a threat, Cam," Jack said, a pointed note of caution in his voice.
Cam swallowed hard and looked away. He knew he had gone too far. "I'd never do anything to hurt Miss Jessa," he said. He could have told Jack that he never left her cabin without waiting in the companionway to make certain she locked the door. Someone had to look out for her what with Ross Booker thinking she was ripe for picking. "Never hurt Mr. Noah either. I like them both separate. It's just that together... I don't know... it confuses me."
"They are a little like oil and water, aren't they?" Jack acknowledged thoughtfully.
Cam nodded energetically. His hair, almost white in the bright sunlight, fell over his forehead. He raked it back with his fingers.
"Of course," the captain continued, "I don't know that you'd mix any better. Now, Noah's niece, there's a girl for you." He bit back a smile as Cam's cheeks reddened.
"Courtney's all right, I suppose." Cam's eyes dropped away and he busied his fingers with whittling.
Jackson stood, giving Cam's shoulder a small squeeze as he did so. "She's more than all right. I'd say she's sweet on you and she's not married." The captain walked away whistling under his breath. He hoped he'd given Cam someone to replace Jessa McClellan in his affections.
* * *
"I need some milk for Gideon's porridge, Cam," Jessa said. "He won't eat it this dry. He likes a nice paste he can smear everywhere." She laughed when she saw the boy sigh. He had been so good to her and Gideon that she felt horrible having to send him on another errand. They were only ten days away from the Virginia shore and no doubt Cam would be glad to bid them farewell. "Here." She plopped Gideon into Cam's thin arms. "I'll get the milk and you stay with Gideon."
"Oh, no, Mrs. McClellan." He tried to return Gideon but Jessa backed away. "You can't go into the hold! Mr. Noah wouldn't like it!"
"Mr. Noah won't know about it, not if you don't tell him. Really, Cam, do you think I can't do it? I know where the livestock is stabled and I know how to milk a cow." She picked up Gideon's cup. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
Jessa hurried down the companionway, taking the ladders to the lower decks and finally to the main hold where one cow, Noah's thoroughbred, and two dozen chickens made their home. She wrinkled her nose at the odor of the confined animals, placed Gideon's cup on top of one of the stall ledges, and set a milking stool and pail by the cow. "I only need a cup, Elizabeth. That sounds more dignified than Bessie, don't you think?" She patted the cow on the flanks and sat on the stool. "Hmm, it looks as if you've been neglected this morning. You're fair to bursting with milk."
"That'd be my job, ma'am."
Jessa was so startled by the intrusion that she nearly fell off her stool. She had a vague recollection of the man who stood before her. She had seen him occasionally on deck, but neither Noah nor Cam had introduced her. "I'm getting some milk for my little boy," she explained unnecessarily.
Ross Booker could hardly believe his luck. He hadn't been this close to a woman in ten months. Newgate prison had been his home for most of that time. When he was released he headed straight for the wharves intending to find a sailor's whore. Instead he signed on with the Clarion and decided whoring could wait until he reached America. On the voyage he had changed his mind. Not that he would have done anything about it, he told himself. The things he said to Henry Alder were just talk. But he had never counted on Jessa McClellan presenting herself in the hold. Alone. He had an urge to press his hand against the bulge in his pants.
"I'll do that for you, Mrs. McClellan." He blocked her path so that when Jessa left the stool she was forced farther into the interior of the stall.
"Th-thank you." Jessa knew almost instantly she didn't like him. His face was handsome in a hard, irregular sort of fashion, but his eyes were cold. Even when he smiled, perhaps especially then, his eyes were cold. She waited, trying not to show her impatience or her fear as he milked the cow. She didn't like the way his hands closed over the cow's teats or the suggestive way he looked at her as he rhythmically tugged the cow's udder. "I only need a cup," she said.
Ross shrugged. His eyes wandered to Jessa's breasts. "It'll only be a minute, ma'am. I might as well finish what I've started."
Jessa wanted to adjust the ruffle of her chemise above the neckline of her bodice. She had let out the seams in all the gowns and she knew there was nothing the least revealing about her lilac dress, yet she felt as if this man could see more than was shown. At her sides her hand clenched in the folds of material and she refrained from lifting them and calling attention to herself. "I'll get my cup," she said. She wanted to go past him and get to the open end of the stall.
Ross pushed the stool out and blocked her way. "Almost done, ma'am."
Jessa was forced to wait. To get past him now she would have to touch him. She didn't want to do that.
Ross stood, picking up the pail. He lifted it in front of him and tilted it to show Jessa the contents. "Sweet, sweet milk," he said, staring at her face. "Why, your skin's the same color." He raised one hand and touched her face. "Just as smooth."
Jessa turned her cheek and slapped his hand away. "Don't do that!"
Ross's face flushed. He grasped her chin. "There's no call to be pushin' at me. I ain't done a thing."
"Please let me pass. I promise I won't say anything to my husband."
"There's nothing to tell him. Nothing's 'appened." He stepped closer, lowering the bucket. One hand still held Jessa's chin. "Now, if I were to kiss you, then something would 'appen." Without warning, he pressed Jessa into the corner and ground his mouth against hers.
Jessa almost gagged as his tongue pushed against her mouth, seeking entry. Mutinously she kept her lips closed. Her hands came around his back and she yanked hard on his hair. He growled in pain and lifted his head. Before he knew what she was about Jessa lifted the pail of milk by its rim and tipped the contents over the front of his breeches. It startled him long enough that she was able to squeeze past him. Jessa had just managed to clear the stall when she felt Ross's hands on her waist. She screamed and tried to twist away, clawing at his hands. Her momentum pulled them both to the floor. Jessa was vaguely aware of the chickens cackling wildly in their pen. Noah's horse was tossing its head and snorting restlessly in the stall. Her fear had become theirs. She pushed at Ross's shoulders and tried to squirm away. His hard groin was thrust against her thigh.
"It will take more than a little milk to cool what ails me," he said, rubbing lewdly against her. He grabbed both her flailing arms by the wrists and slammed them to the deck.
"Noah will kill you!"
Ross laughed. "Everyone knows yer 'usband don't bother wi' ye."
<
br /> The voice that interrupted was hard with menace. "Then everyone's wrong." Noah bent and clutched Ross's collar in his fist. He hauled the man to his feet, shoving him against a stall gate. "Are you hurt, Jessa?"
Jessa was on her knees now, breathing hard. She saw Cam standing in the doorway. Embarrassed by what he had seen, he was looking everywhere but at her. "N-no. I'm not hurt."
Noah's grip on Ross's throat didn't relax. "Then go with Cam back to the cabin and stay with your son, madam. Where you belong."
"Noah?" She said his name cautiously, afraid of what he was going to do. "Are you—"
"Go Jessa! Now!"
Jessa ran the entire way to her cabin, Cam close on her heels.
"Gideon's in his crib, Mrs. McClellan," Cam explained as he followed her into the cabin.
She nodded, keeping her back to him. Jessa didn't want him to see her tear-streaked face. "You can go. And Cam?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Thank you. You were right to get Noah." When he was gone Jessa stripped out of her soiled gown. She had never wanted a bath as badly as she did then but hauling the water would take too much time and Gideon was crying, demanding her attention in the other room. Jessa let him cry while she scrubbed at the basin. Her face and arms were pink by the time she was finished, but she had erased Ross's touch and the path of tears across her cheeks.
"You'll have to eat dry, lumpy porridge," she told Gideon when she brought him to the table and sat him on her lap. Tears pricked her eyes again and she blinked them back. "Mama doesn't have your milk."
"No! No!" Gideon turned his face away when Jessa brought the spoon to his mouth.
At another time Jessa would have made a fuss over the new word. Not now, and not that particular word. "Please, Gideon. Eat something... for me, darling... will you do that?" She pressed the spoon to his lips.
In answer Gideon screwed up his face and tightened his lips stubbornly.
"Oh, please, don't do this. I need you to be a good boy right now... eat your porridge." When his mouth opened to object again Jessa slipped the spoon in. "There! That's not so terrible, is it?"
Gideon spit the porridge out. It dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt. When Jessa tossed the spoon down and gave him an angry little shake he began to cry.
After a moment she joined him.
That's how Noah found them—both sobbing, neither able to provide comfort to the other. He quickly took control, lifting Gideon from Jessa's arms and bouncing him lightly in the crook of his elbow. He wiped Gideon's mouth and chin then took him into the other room and changed his shirt and nappie.
Jessa was washing her face at the basin when he returned with a much quieted child in his arms. She gave Noah a watery, tremulous smile as he came to stand beside her then ducked her head quickly and went to the window seat to sit down. Drawing her knees to her chest, Jessa wrapped her arms around her legs. The shift covered her like a tent and hid her shaking legs.
Noah took the quilt from the foot of the bed and with Gideon still in his arm, awkwardly wrapped it around her. Jessa provided no assistance. If this were a real marriage his arms would be around her, Noah thought. But he couldn't bring himself to touch her, afraid of her reaction as well as his own. "Were you hurt after all?" he asked.
Jessa shook her head and stared straight ahead. "No, not the way you mean... a few bruises... nothing... you came in time."
The promises Noah made to himself in regard to being sensitive to Jessa's fragile state were forgotten. His fear, his inadequacy to comfort her, the terrible consequences of his neglect and Jessa's rejection were all immutably tangled within him and knew but one expression for release: sudden, blinding anger. "Damn you, Jessa! Were you thinking at all when you left this cabin? Have you no regard for my wishes? No regard for your safety? No thought that you could have been raped?" Gideon whimpered and Noah realized he was holding the infant too tightly. He set Gideon on the rug, found the cloth ball, and returned to Jessa only marginally cooled. Her face was ashen now except for twin splashes of color on her high cheekbones. She looked as if she had been struck by the back of his hand, and turning her head, had been struck again. "Have you nothing to say? No? Then let me tell you what happens now. You will get dressed and I will bring Cam to watch Gideon. Then you and I will join everyone assembled on deck and we will observe Ross Booker's punishment at the mainmast."
Jessa's head came up. The color in her cheeks disappeared and her pale gray eyes betrayed her revulsion. "No!"
"I'm afraid you don't have a choice," he said tersely. "You will be there if I have to carry you!"
"Why must you torture me also? I don't want to see a man's back laid open. Did you think I would?" Jessa's hands balled into bloodless fists. "And don't look at me that way! I know you're thinking that if I really did nothing to encourage him, then I would enjoy seeing him flayed. Well, I'm telling you now, I did not encourage that man and I still do not want to observe his punishment!"
"Ross has already told the captain a different story. He says you flirted with him, teased him, exchanged a few kisses, and when he wanted more you changed your mind. You must admit it had a certain ring of familiarity when I heard it. Did you mistake him for Robert as well?"
Jessa gasped. "That is disgusting! Believe anything you like, Noah. You will regardless of what I say. Place all the blame and responsibility for what happened on my shoulders. I can bear it there,"—she pointed to her shoulders then pressed her forefinger against her temple—"but I'll never accept it here! My body is my own, and I have a right to say who uses it and in what fashion. I repeat, I did not encourage that man. What he attempted was vile, a violation of my person. And yes, I want him punished. But I do not want to witness it. Every man up there will be thinking as you do. If I will not accept your censure, do you really think I will accept theirs?"
Noah was struck by her vehemence. He had never seen her so passionately angry or heard her speak with such conviction. Her speech was not delivered with the halting spontaneity of someone who had just conceived of these ideas. It was clear she had given the matter much thought over a long period of time. Noah was very much afraid this was not the first time someone had tried to force their attentions on her, himself excluded. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. "I never said I believed Ross Booker," he said carefully, calmly. "I merely said that his explanation sounded familiar."
"Tell me," she said, challenging him, "if you did believe him, if I had flirted and teased, would you still want him punished?"
Noah was a long time in answering. He had never considered the question of rape from a viewpoint like Jessa's. The commonly held opinion was that the woman either brought it on herself or she didn't. And the burden of proof remained with her. If the attack were without provocation, then the outcome was clear. But doubt regarding her motives and actions would cloud the picture.
"Yes," he said finally. "I would still want him punished."
Jessa was skeptical of his answer and it showed in her eyes and the slightly derisive lift of her mouth. "Why? Because I'm your wife and therefore an attack on me is an attack on you? Is it the affront to your pride, your honor, that must be dealt with?"
"No," he said gravely. "It's because what you said before is true. You should have rights regarding your own person." He caught her pointed, accusing stare and continued chillingly. "Don't push me, Jessa. There is a difference between me and Ross Booker. When you married me you gave me certain rights. That you're refusing to honor them makes you the criminal, not me. I'm willing to admit that leaving this cabin unescorted was not an invitation on your part, nor is leaving the door unlocked. But don't make the mistake of confusing my actions with Booker's, your dead husband's, or anyone else's.
"Leaving here without protection showed a shocking lack of caution, Jessa," he went on, determined to make his own point. "I did not issue the order that you remain here behind a bolted door on a whim. I recognized danger and I acted accordingly. You did not. That is not to say
you deserved what was done to you. I am only saying that you disregarded responsibility for your own safety."
Jessa's fingers twisted the end of her braid. She nodded slowly, eyes downcast, accepting the truth of what he said.
Noah studied her a moment, knowing what he was about to say would erase the submissive expression from her face. "I want you to get dressed now. You'll still have to accompany me on deck."
The winter gray eyes she raised to him were desolate, despairing. "Please, I beg you, don't make me go!"
Noah held fast, though it was painful to look at her. "You must go, Jessa. It's expected that you witness the punishment. To stay below would be admitting guilt in the eyes of the others."
"But I'm not guilty!"
"I know," he said lowly. "I would spare you this if I could, but it's not in my hands. Jack Riddle is the captain, and his word is law on this ship, not mine. There can be only one man on board who is in command. Jack is that man. He is punishing Ross Booker as he sees fit. He didn't believe Booker's tale anymore than I did. Even before Henry Adler and Cam stepped forward to tell what they knew, Jack had decided the punishment. He has also decided that you should be there." Noah went to the wardrobe and took out Jessa's dove gray dress. A somber, sober color was what the occasion called for. He laid it over the back of a chair. "Wear this, Jessa. I'm going to..." A tentative knocking at the door interrupted Noah. "I suppose I don't have to get Cam after all. The men must already be assembled. You'll have to dress quickly." He went to the door and talked to Cam quietly on the threshold, glancing over his shoulder from time to time to make certain Jessa was dressing. When she was finished, he let Cam into the room and pointed to Gideon under the dining table. The infant was alternately gnawing on his ball and the table leg. Cam immediately got down on his knees and crawled in after him. In other circumstances Noah would have laughed, smiled at the very least. Instead he held out his hand to Jessa. When she took it, he escorted her from the cabin with a gravity of expression that could have led one to believe he was going to his own punishment.