Marrying Christopher

by Michele Paige Holmes

  “There was a better solution,” Captain Gower said.

  “Yes,” Marsali agreed. “I am relieved you didn’t break your promise— for many reasons.” Her voice quivered as she held her hand out. Christopher slipped the ring over her finger.

  Marsali stared at the ring a moment, then clutched her hand tightly to her chest. Christopher pulled her to him, holding her close. The assembled crew members let out a cheer and clapped. The accordion started up again, screeching painfully, causing them both to laugh until a clap of thunder made Marsali jump.

  “Wait. Silence!” Captain Gower bellowed. “We haven’t finished yet. They haven’t spoken their vows. I haven’t declared them man and wife. There is more to this ceremony.” He pulled the paper from between the pages of the Bible and waved it overhead.

  “I think it is enough, Captain,” Lady Cosgrove said approvingly. “The important parts have been said. The rest is up to them, and I believe they shall do very well.”

  Captain Gower placed the paper back inside the book and slammed it shut. “I’ve got to make it official at least. Do you her wed with that ring?” he asked Christopher.

  Still holding Marsali close, Christopher answered. “I do.”

  “And you accept and pledge your troth to him and all that?” the captain asked Marsali.

  “Yes, I do.” She laid her head against Christopher’s shoulder.

  A flash of lightning lit the sky behind them.

  “In that case I now pronounce you husband and wife. For better or worse, sickness and health, and rain and everything else.”

  Thunder echoed across the sky once more, as fat raindrops began to pour down upon them.

  Captain Gower tucked the book beneath his arm. “Just watch out for each other, all right?”

  “We will.” They spoke in unison as the ship’s bell began pealing and the accordion started up a third time.

  “Get that thing inside,” the captain bellowed. “We’re done here. All hands to your stations. Storm’s coming!”

  “Congratulations, Mrs. Thatcher.” Christopher placed his arm around Marsali and steered her toward the stairs.

  “And to you, Mr. Thatcher.” She tipped her face up to him, and a raindrop landed on her lips.

  It would have been so easy to kiss it away, to hold her in his arms right here, where they could have at least a modicum of privacy with the others rushing inside to shelter or to their posts.

  But the timing still wasn’t right.

  Patience, he told himself again as they followed Lady Cosgrove and her daughter into the saloon for the wedding breakfast. She is your wife now. You have the rest of your life to kiss her.

  He hoped it would be a very long life but a very short servitude.

  As she had been expecting, at exactly ten o’clock Christopher knocked on Marsali’s door. She opened it quietly, lest Captain Gower hear.

  “Mrs. Thatcher, might I interest you in an evening stroll on deck to look at the stars?” Christopher whispered.

  “I keep wondering to whom you are speaking when you say that.” Marsali tied her wrap securely over her nightgown, then bent down to retrieve her shoes from the floor.

  “With you attached to it, I have decided the name Thatcher is not detestable at all,” Christopher said. “In fact, I am rather fond of it now.”

  “I adore it.” She pulled the door closed softly behind her and followed him out into the hall. Lady Cosgrove would be entirely scandalized to see Marsali parading around in her sleeping attire, but Marsali did not particularly care what anyone thought of her tonight— except for her husband.

  Marsali wrapped her hand around his arm and leaned into him as they left the saloon. “Who has the watch tonight?”

  “Our favorite first officer.” Christopher’s lips turned down in a scowl she found endearing.

  “Dear Mr. Luke.” Marsali felt the tiniest bit sorry for him. The captain had assigned him so many shifts lately.

  “The one and only. And you can bet he’ll tell the captain we were out alone together at night.” Christopher paused to look up at the sky. “No stargazing tonight. Too many clouds.”

  “No matter,” Marsali said. There would be other nights with stars— many, many nights. “And if Mr. Luke does see us, all the better that we are outside than in alone together at night.” Marsali felt— as she had earlier— rather perturbed about the restrictions that came with their marriage. So she could not become with child. That did not mean a husband and wife could not be alone together, did it? She only wished to spend time with Christopher, to enjoy his companionship, to converse.

  And perhaps to have that kiss he’s promised.

  Holding back a sigh, she bent to put her shoes on now that they were outside.

  “It’s cooler tonight, and the air feels heavy,” Christopher remarked as he lit the lantern he’d brought from his cabin.

  “Fog,” Marsali said grudgingly. “Just as we had in Manchester. I had hoped America would be different.”

  “Maybe Virginia will be.” Christopher took her hand and led her out to the main deck, toward the wheel.

  “Mr. Luke is not there,” Marsali said, pointing to the empty post.

  Christopher shrugged. “No doubt he will be shortly. But let’s not waste our time worrying about him. I should like the evening to discover more about my wife— not the first officer who tried to steal her.”

  “He did no such thing.” Marsali tugged at Christopher’s hand. “This way. Hurry. And put out that lantern.” She led him carefully across the deck to the side where the lifeboats were stowed. Stopping beneath the one she’d sought refuge in the other day, she asked, “What do you think?”

  His mischievous grin was answer enough. “You first. I’ll keep a lookout.”

  Marsali didn’t wait to be told again but gathered a fistful of her nightgown in one hand and climbed on top of the nearest crate. From there she hopped to the top of a barrel of water, then leaned over to catch the edge of the rigging. Five squares up, and she was able to let go and hoist herself into the boat. Christopher was right behind her, and she’d barely scooted over and tugged her wrap back in place when he landed beside her. The lifeboat wobbled for a second, and she gripped the side.

  “Sorry.” Christopher slid forward and lowered himself between the seats, to the center of the boat. “I weigh a bit more than you. We’ll have to be careful to keep it balanced.”

  “Why do they store them like this, anyway?” Marsali asked, sitting on the floor beside him and arranging her gown carefully.

  “More room on deck, I suppose,” Christopher said. “And it would be faster to launch them, as they’re already hooked up to the pulleys.”

  She suppressed a shudder. “How terrifying that would be. I’m glad ours has been a calm crossing.”

  “It has been anything but calm.” He searched for her hand in the dark and found it. “I came on this trip seeking peace, and look what happened. Now I’ve a wife!”

  “Most fortunate, don’t you think?” Marsali attempted to bat her lashes coyly, as she’d seen Lydia do, though the effort was likely lost on him in the darkness.

  “Extremely fortunate.” Christopher put his arm around her and pulled her close. She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed contentedly. “I think I should like to stay here all night with you.”

  “We should have brought our pillows,” Christopher lamented.

  “There are some pieces of cork beneath the seats.” Marsali stretched and pressed her toe against one. “I used them the other day to be more comfortable.”

  “You did look quite cozy when I peeked at you,” Christopher said. “Ensconced as you were and lost in the book you were reading.”

  “I wasn’t really reading,” Marsali confessed. “I’d finished the book earlier that day. I was thinking.”

  “About Thomas?” Christopher’s tone turned serious. “We should discuss him before tomorrow.”

  “I know we should, but not now. And no,” sh
e said, tipping her face up to him, “I was up here thinking about you, about how you are like Hawkeye from Last of the Mohicans.”

  Christopher snorted loudly. “My wife is blessed with a keen imagination.”

  Marsali placed a finger over his lips. “Shh. Do you want them to discover us here?” She paused, remembering something that had been nagging at her for the past couple of days. “How did you know I was up here the other afternoon? I wasn’t making any noise.”

  “Your hair ribbon.” Christopher turned to her. “It was floating up with the breeze, along with wisps of your pretty hair.”

  “My hair is not pretty,” Marsali said. “When I was younger, maybe, but—”

  It was Christopher who silenced her this time, his finger brushing over her lips in a soft caress. “Long or short, your hair will always be lovely to me.” He reached out to touch it, then stopped. “May I?”

  Her eyes closed. “Yes.” He touched the side of her face, then moved to her hair. He found a pin and pulled it out, then another and another until her curls were freed and tumbled to her shoulders. Gently he ran his hand down the length of her hair, careful not to pull it. “You should wear it down more often.”

  “Perhaps someday,” she murmured, lost in his touch— truly taken to another place, as he had teased her about previously. How was it that something so simple could seem so profound? She felt as she had that day at the washtub— as if she might simply melt into a puddle.

  “In the book, Cora wore her hair down,” he teased gently.

  “I did not say I was like Cora,” Marsali said. “And you are not like Hawkeye. Though your hair has grown enough on this voyage that it does brush your collar now.” She had noticed that earlier when they were standing close and speaking their vows. She longed to touch it as he had touched hers a moment ago but still felt too shy to make such a request. “Anyway, do not compare us. Theirs was not a happy ending. Ours will be better.”

  “Ours will be much better,” he agreed. “But who knows, perhaps after a year in America I will look like Hawkeye— wearing buckskin breeches and with my hair so long I must tie it back.”

  Marsali laughed. “What would your sisters think had become of you?”

  Christopher’s mischievous grin appeared. “Wouldn’t it be grand if they could see me thus? I shall have to stay in touch with Captain Gower and see what becomes of the camera obscura. It may be that someday I can send them a likeness— of both of us. I suppose I will simply have to allow my hair to grow until then.”

  “I may hold you to that,” she said, enjoying the way it curled on his neck now.

  They did not speak for a while after that, but sat, content to be close, to be touching one another.

  Marsali might have fallen asleep, she wasn’t certain, but his arm around her was so comforting. She could have stayed here forever.

  “I do not see why Captain Gower suggested that we not share a cabin tonight,” she said sometime later, groggy with both sleepiness and from Christopher’s gentle touch. “We are perfectly capable of controlling our emotions within the limits that we must.”

  “Speak for yourself.” A low growl rumbled in Christopher’s throat. “One of us is in agony.”

  She sat up quickly. “That is a terrible thing to say to your wife, Mr. Thatcher.”

  “Not when it’s true. I thought you were causing me to go mad before we married, but this is far worse. To know you’re mine and to not be able to—”

  “Do not even say it.” Marsali pressed a finger to his lips once more. She rose up on her knees before him and shook her head as she gave him her most solemn look. “I do hope this isn’t a mistake.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his in a quick, efficient kiss.

  His eyes widened before she glimpsed a corner of his mouth lift. “That is what I have been waiting for.”

  “Good.” Marsali leaned back, prepared to return to their previous position, sitting side by side.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Christopher caught her arms and held her in place in front of him. “I could not determine why the timing to kiss you never seemed right. Now I understand. I was waiting for you to kiss me first.”

  “And so I have.” Marsali attempted to squirm from his grasp, but he would not let her go. “Please do not make any more of it,” she begged. “I know a proper lady would never do such a thing, but I wanted to kiss you tonight, and we both know that I—”

  His lips silenced her. Their contact was not fleeting as hers had been when she had kissed him a moment ago; his mouth lingered over hers, warm and soft. He pulled away slightly. “Do you feel it yet?”

  “What?”

  He kissed her again, a deeper kiss this time, as if he was searching for something within her— the fire that had flared to life at their first contact.

  Marsali’s heartbeat quickened, and she grasped his shoulders, fearful she would lose her balance, he was making her head spin so.

  “Now?” his lips whispered over hers. He did not wait for her answer but kissed her a third time. She clung to him, and his arms came around her waist, pulling her onto his lap. He touched her face, cradling it in the palms of his hands. And still he kissed her. She was long out of breath and certain her heart would explode any minute. Their kiss was glorious. She was soaring, but there was something else… just beyond her reach.

  “Now—” she gasped, pulling away, scrambling off his lap and practically climbing out of the boat, “I understand.”

  He chuckled. “Not so easy, is it?”

  “No.” She ran her hands through her tousled hair, then realized her nightgown and wrapper were no longer covering her ankles and tugged them down again. All the while her husband watched her, a knowing smile on his face.

  “Do not be afraid of me, Marsali. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  “I know.” She drew in a deep breath, willing her heart to slow to normal— or as near normal as possible. She doubted it would ever be quite the same again. “It’s not you I’m afraid of, but me. You make me feel—”

  “Desperate and reckless?” He pulled her closer and faced her away from him, putting his arms around her once more.

  “I was thinking more of exhilarated and passionate.”

  “Mmm. Those are good too. I’ll take them.”

  “Not tonight you won’t.” This is going to be impossible.

  “Not tonight,” Christopher agreed. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “Lean against me and go to sleep, Marsali. Tomorrow will come soon enough.”

  “Marsali, wake up. It’s raining. We’re getting wet.” Christopher shook her gently, but she only snuggled closer into the crook of his arm. “Or one of us is getting wet,” he said, noting that the sleeve of the arm that had been around her was soaked.

  He held her away and leaned her head against a piece of cork, and still she did not awaken. My wife can sleep through anything. He wasn’t certain whether that was a good thing or not, but it amused him. He stood carefully, pulling the heavy canvas cover from the side of the boat where it was bunched, over to them, using it to cover them the best he could. He guessed Marsali had removed it the other day and forgotten to replace it. They were lucky the morning storm had passed quickly and the boat had time to dry out before they’d climbed in.

  He crawled beneath the canvas and lay beside her, listening to the even rhythm of her breathing and the steady patter of rain. The wind was picking up as well. They wouldn’t be able to stay here much longer. Without the canvas properly attached at the sides, the boat would soon begin taking on water. Still, he was loath to leave. This might be the only night he had to spend with Marsali, and he wanted to cherish every moment. Even watching her sleep was a luxury.

  The sky lit briefly, outlining her face and the delicate features he’d admired the first time he’d seen her. A thunderclap followed all too quickly, loud enough that the boat seemed to tremble, and Marsali woke with a start.

  “Not to worry,” he soothed.

 
“Christopher.” Her hand reached for him in the dark. He took it and pressed it to his heart. He loved hearing her say his name.

  “There’s another storm. We need to go inside.” He felt reluctant to go, though he knew it foolish to remain. “Come.” He pulled her up, and they crawled toward the end of the boat nearest the rigging. “Do you wish to go first?”

  “No.” She shivered. “You go and then help me down, please. It was tricky last time when I wasn’t in the dark.”

  Christopher swung his leg over the side of the boat as another bolt of lightning flashed in the sky. Marsali screeched and clambered after him. He jumped to the barrel and reached for her, catching her around the waist and holding her close as the answering thunderclap boomed overhead.

  “What are you doing up there?” Captain Gower shouted, stomping toward them across the deck, his oil coat flapping behind him.

  “Oh, dear,” Marsali said.

  Christopher kept hold of her hand and guided her from the barrel to the crate. He jumped down and had just lowered her to the deck when the captain arrived.

  “What were you doing up there? And in a storm! Look at this lightning! Do you want to get her killed? I married the two of you so you’d keep her safe.”

  “It wasn’t storming when we went up there,” Marsali said meekly. “And it was my idea. We were only sleeping.”

  Christopher didn’t see the need to make excuses. The captain had given his suggestions, but they were married now, and what they did was their own concern. “This is the only night we are to have together. What would you have done, Captain?”

  Captain Gower grumbled something unintelligible. “Get inside and get out of those wet clothes— in your own cabins!” He stomped past them, shouting orders to the crew on deck to tie down the sails and make sure everything was secure.

  Mr. Jones passed them as they attempted to move over the rolling deck toward the saloon.

  “Captain,” he called. “Mr. Luke said you want the boilers at full capacity.”