by Cathy Marie Hake, Lynn A. Coleman, Mary Davis, Susan Page Davis
Randolph guffawed. “You don’t just land in port and pick up a lady.”
“You did.” She smiled at her husband, and Conner’s heart tripled its beat. She was always generous with her smile and made anyone feel welcomed.
Randolph smiled back at his wife and raised his glass to Conner. “What do you say? Shall I bring you back a bride?”
“No, thank you.” He wanted to tell his friend that he wouldn’t be around when he returned but knew Randolph would try to talk him out of leaving and would insist on knowing why he was pulling foot. He would never tell Randolph that he fancied his wife. It was just plain wrong. The only way to stop this, or at least to control it, was to vamoose. Randolph had been the one to talk him into starting his general store in Port Townsend and would be disappointed when he was gone.
Vivian sat forward. “Oh, Conner, please. It would be so much fun if you had a wife; then she and I could be friends, and the four of us could dine together and throw parties.” Vivian had had trouble making friends in town. She didn’t behave like the other women of the town’s proper society. She didn’t value people based on how much money they had. She valued people simply for being people. Consequently, the members of the town’s elite hadn’t given her a warm welcome.
She made solving his problem sound simple. Get a wife and live happily ever after. But not if he didn’t love the woman and he was in love with another man’s wife. Maybe he wasn’t so much in love with Vivian as he coveted Randolph’s happiness. Either way, leaving town was the best option. “I should be going.” And not just from Randolph’s house. He set his cider aside and stood.
“A toast first.” Randolph held his glass high. “To Vivian, my lovely wife, a more virtuous wife you will never find.” He drank down the last of his brandy.
A hint of sadness in Vivian’s eyes twisted Conner’s heart. What could possibly cause her sorrow? She had everything she could want. Couldn’t Randolph see her distress?
It wasn’t his place to bring it up or to comfort.
Vivian sat at her dressing table, removing the pins from her hair. Randolph hadn’t said his loving wife or the wife he loved and adored, but his lovely wife. Once again it was her beauty he saw, her body he desired. Could he ever truly love her? Not if he thought she was his virtuous wife but found out she was once one of the lowliest of sinners.
Randolph caressed her hair and held it in his fingers. “I never imagined hair could be this silky.” He looked over her shoulder and gazed at her reflection. “You are so beautiful.”
Though the compliment saddened her, she gave him a small smile. What she knew he expected. “Thank you, Randolph.”
She pulled her hair over her shoulder and stroked it with her sterling silver brush. Married only three months, she didn’t know her husband well. They had married two days after they had met in Coos Bay, Oregon. Then they arrived in Port Townsend, and he’d been out to sea much of the time. He was a good man but haunted by his childhood. She realized now her error in her haste to latch onto the security of marriage. Her secret would eventually tear them apart. How could they love each other with her past standing between them? William had sternly warned her never to tell his brother what she had done.
When William and Randolph’s father had died, their mother had turned to prostitution for a while to feed and clothe her two boys. Randolph had never forgiven her.
She gazed at her reflection. Only twenty-five, she felt as though she’d lived two lifetimes. She shifted her gaze to Randolph’s reflection. “When do you head down to your ship?”
“In a few hours, but I want to spend some time with my wife before I leave.” Randolph raised her to her feet and turned her to him. “My exotic beauty.” He captured her mouth.
Is that all he could see? Her heart cried out for more. For love.
His lips traveled across her cheek, and he stopped. “What is this, tears?” He caressed them away with his thumbs.
She hadn’t realized her tears had escaped. She turned away from him and dried the rest of her face with her hands. “I’m going to miss you.”
He turned her back. “These aren’t the tears of a wife missing her husband before he leaves. What’s upsetting you?”
She should tell him. William’s warning rushed back to her. He will never accept your past. Never! “Nothing, really.”
His expression hardened as did his grip on her arms. “Tell me.”
“Randolph, that hurts.”
He jerked his hands away, horror twisting his face. “I’m sorry.” He knelt in front of her and took her hand, kissing it. “Forgive me.”
“Please get up.” She hated seeing him grovel. Not to her. Never to her.
He stood. “I promised myself I would never hurt a woman or child. I don’t know what came over me. I’ll never do it again. You have my word.”
“Sometimes we find ourselves doing things we never thought we would.” Becoming a person we don’t want looking back at us in the mirror.
“Not you. You are a perfect wife, a perfect lady.”
She turned away from him to hide her shame. “I am far from perfect.”
He stepped in front of her. “Look at you. Everything about you is perfect. Every lady would want to look as you do. What small imperfection do you think you have?”
See more in me than physical beauty, her heart cried. “I am more than outward appearance.”
With a finger under her chin, he lifted her face. “Why the tears tonight?”
He blurred in front of her.
“Have I done something to upset you?”
She blinked the tears back. “I don’t want to spoil things before you leave.”
His mouth turned up in a kind smile through his whiskers. “You are too good for me.”
She couldn’t stand his misconceptions any longer and stepped back from him. Her red taffeta dress rustled. “No, Randolph. It is you who are too good for me. I am not worthy to be your wife. I’m not worthy of you at all.” She couldn’t harbor this secret any longer. Like a slow-burning ember, it was consuming her newfound faith a little at a time. Even if it destroyed them both, he had a right to know. “I am not the lady you think I am. I’m a harlot. Or at least I was.” She let the words rush out before she could change her mind, then held her breath.
He took a step back and frowned. “That isn’t true. You can’t be.”
She reached out to him as a child would for understanding, but he moved out of her reach. “I was a widow and had nothing. I was hungry and cold and had no place to live. A man was kind to me. I didn’t know the Lord Jesus. I didn’t know it was so wrong. But Jesus changed me. I no longer lived like that when you met me. Friends helped me. Believe me, I would never go back to that. Never.”
He gritted his teeth and his face flamed red. “Friends? What friends?”
She shrunk away from his booming voice. “It doesn’t matter.”
His features hardened even more, and his tone turned accusatory. “My brother and his wife.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. “I want to be a good wife to you. What does my past matter? I am a new creation in the Lord Jesus Christ.”
His face twisted into a snarl. “You deceived me. Made me believe you were a proper lady. Was marrying me just another harlot trick?”
“No, Randolph. I truly was trying to make a new start. I never meant to hurt you. I want to be a good wife to you. I want you to really love me, but it wasn’t going to be possible with my secret between us.”
“Love a harlot? Not likely.” He strode out of their bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
She jerked it open, refusing to be dismissed. She caught up to him by the front door. “Please forgive me. Please.” There had to be a way to salvage the remains of her short marriage. “I am the lady you married and a new creation. God has forgiven my past. Can’t you?”
“A lady would never sell herself. Never. You deceived me to get me to marry you.” He swung on his captain’s overcoat and hat. “I
’ll deal with you when I return.”
She reached out for his arm. “Please, Randolph, forgive me.”
He pulled from her grasp. “Don’t touch me.” He slammed the door on his way out.
She covered her eyes and cried. Sweet Lord Jesus, please let him forgive me.
An arm wrapped around her shoulder. “Come, dear. He’ll return soon.” Maggie, the cook and housekeeper, guided her back upstairs and helped her change for bed.
Conner woke in the middle of the night to the slurred bellowing song of a drunk out on the street. He wanted to ignore it, but he recognized that song and the singer’s voice. He pulled on his pants and a shirt. “Come on, Fred.”
Fred cocked one brown scruffy ear from where she lay in a circle on the end of his bed.
“Come on, girl.”
The little terrier stood and stretched from her nose all the way down to her hind legs then jumped off the bed.
People often wondered about giving a boy name to a girl dog, but it was just one of those things that happens. When he’d seen the cold, dirty, wet stray wandering the streets of Seattle, the name Fred immediately popped into his head and fit. He’d soon realized Fred was a girl but kept the name. At least that’s what he told people. The story of how as a lonely little boy he had been refused the comfort of a pet by a mother who hadn’t wanted her own son, let alone a dog named Fred, was not a good tale. His mother had kicked the dog and sent it away. Conner never saw Fred again. Over the years, he’d wondered what had happened to that dog. So when another stray entered his life, it only seemed natural to name her Fred.
He headed downstairs and through his store, with Fred on his heels.
Randolph sat on the boardwalk step outside. Drunk as a skunk. This had been his normal pattern when he was in port: to get drunk at least one night and end up here. But since he’d married Vivian, he’d not spent one night sleeping off a drinking binge in Conner’s back room. What had changed things tonight? Had he fought with Vivian? Conner looked toward uptown. Was she in as bad shape as Randolph?
He’d been friends with Randolph since he was seven, Randolph was ten, and Randolph’s brother was five. The three had run barefoot around the streets of San Francisco together. Or at least the streets of their block. Randolph’s mother had combed their hair and made them go to church every Sunday. Conner’s mother had done her best to ignore the fact that she’d produced a child. “Come inside, old friend.”
Randolph turned toward Conner’s voice and waved his bottle at him. “Sit down. Have a drink. ’S good whiskey.”
Both Randolph and Conner had accepted Jesus Christ as their Savior when they were boys. But unlike Conner, who had pressed harder toward the Lord when trouble came, Randolph had turned his back and had been running ever since. No matter what Randolph said or did, Conner knew that the Lord had not turned His back on the crusty sea captain. When Randolph was ready, he would see that God had been waiting with open arms the whole time to welcome back His prodigal child. And Randolph wasn’t so far away; he’d gone to church twice with Vivian. The only two Sundays he’d been in town.
Conner sat but refused the whiskey. “You should come inside so you don’t disturb those trying to sleep.”
Randolph groped the railing and awning post to pull himself to his feet and started staggering. “I have to be on my ship. I’m the captain. My men need me.”
Heading in his current direction, Randolph wasn’t going to make it to his ship, so Conner turned his friend toward the dock. “This way.”
Randolph poked him in the chest. “Don’t ever trust women. Not ever. You can’t trust ’em. They’re all bad.” He waved his bottle in the air. “All of them.” He sighed and quieted.
What had happened tonight after he’d left? Randolph must have fought with Vivian. Conner hoped it wasn’t over finding him a wife. He didn’t want to come between the two of them, not ever. It was good that he’d be leaving town. “Wait here while I lock up, and I’ll walk you to your ship.” He locked his store door and quickly returned to his swaying friend.
“You’re a good friend, Conner. You always were.” Randolph patted him on the chest with his palm. “Promise me you’ll look after her until I return. Look after Vivian.”
That was the last thing he should do. The fox guarding the henhouse? Oh, what trouble could be had. He looped his arm around his friend to help him walk.
“Look after her, but don’t get any ideas about her. Don’t you touch her. I should have known she was too beautiful to trust. Don’t you ever touch her.”
“I promise not to touch her.” That was one promise he could make and vow to keep. Vivian was another man’s wife—his friend’s wife. He could never touch her.
“And you’ll guard her while I’m gone.”
Guard? He struggled to keep Randolph on his feet.
“Promise me.”
“I promise, Randolph.” If Vivian stayed uptown and he remained downtown, that should be easy enough to keep.
Randolph seemed to sober and spoke clearly. “If anything happens to me, you’ll see that she’s all right.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you.” Conner staggered under the weight of his friend. “You’re the finest captain on the sound and all the West Coast.”
Randolph stopped in the middle of the dock and grabbed Conner by the front of his coat. “Promise.”
He wanted to shout no, but what reason could he give his friend for not being willing to honor this simple request? He gritted his teeth. “I promise.” As soon as Randolph’s ship was spotted on the horizon, Conner would pull foot.
He loosened Randolph’s grip on his coat and hailed the first mate. “Help me get your captain to his cabin.” He and the first mate supported Randolph to his cabin and laid him on his bed. Conner said nothing more to the first mate as nothing needed to be said. He patted his leg to the scruffy brown terrier at his feet. “Come on, Fred, let’s go home.”
At his store, he went upstairs to his living quarters and gazed out the back window at the sparkling water in the moonlight and laid his head upon the cold glass. It was not good to test temptation. “Lord, what have I done making such promises? I will leave as soon as Randolph sets foot back in Port Townsend. Help me to honor my promises to an old friend while still honoring You.”
Chapter 2
Thunder cracked and rolled across the sky, startling Vivian awake. A storm. Good. They could use the rain. It had been three weeks since they’d gotten a drop. And a week since Randolph had left. He would be pleased if his roses got the water they needed. Maybe it would soften his mood when he faced her. She climbed from bed, slipping on her dressing robe before stepping out onto her balcony. Most people called it a widow’s walk, but it was only that if a widow was on it, in her opinion. The air was heavy with humidity, but no rain fell yet, the rolling black clouds begging for release.
She shouldn’t have told Randolph the truth. William had warned her. But her secret had weighed so heavily on her; she couldn’t stand it. What would he do to her when he returned? Would he beat her? Send her away? A tear slipped down her cheek as she remembered Randolph’s disgust with her before he left. Would she get a chance to make amends with him?
Lord, please let Randolph see that I can be a good wife to him. Forgive me for keeping this secret from him. I just wanted to start over. I wanted to be the person Randolph thought I was.
The first huge drop of rain splashed onto her hand. She gripped the cold metal railing and turned her face to the sky as the clouds gave up their bounty, washing her in refreshing cool water. But the rain that watered and gave life would also turn the streets to mud, and people would grumble about the lack of sunshine. She let the rain cleanse her, but it couldn’t touch her inside. Jesus had forgiven her and cleansed her soul. Could Randolph forgive her, as well?
Vivian cut the quarter chunk of the ten-inch Colby cheese wheel into five pieces, wrapped the bundle in a cheesecloth, and put it in her basket along with five apples and five
biscuits. “Maggie, would you hand me those stale bread crusts for the seagulls?”
The cook held out the paper sack Vivian had been collecting the bread in; then she peered into Vivian’s nearly full basket. “Those are mighty hungry birds.”
Vivian put the sack into her basket and covered it with a yellow checkered cloth. “That they are.”
“We got a couple of young roosters in this last batch of laying hens. They’re causing a fuss chasing around my hens. Maybe I’ll just butcher them and fry them up. You think those birds of yours like fried chicken?”
Vivian kissed Maggie on the cheek. “They would love it.”
“You be careful now. Anything happens to you, and the captain will be butchering me.”
That might have been true two weeks ago before Randolph left, but now if something were to happen to her, Randolph might be relieved. He could be the grieving widower captain, and no one would ever find out about his poor choice in a wife. How would he choose to “deal with her”? Maybe it would be best if she weren’t here when he returned.
She gazed at Maggie’s concerned face and, remembering the cook had admonished her to be careful, patted her skirt pocket. “I have my Derringer. I’ll be fine.” After all, she was going downtown in the middle of the day. Unfortunately, she had experience in handling unruly men.
She walked the blocks to the steep, narrow stairs that connected uptown with its respectable residents and her new station in life to downtown and a reminder of her old life. She descended to the bustling streets below past people who did hard physical labor to put food on their family’s table, miners who were passing through on their way to Alaska to make their fortune, sea dogs who were grateful to be on land for a few hours, and the dozens of other good people trying to make their way. The common people of downtown stared at her, and she smiled back. She traveled along the main street and climbed down the wooden steps to the beach, where the air became even saltier. She stepped carefully over the uneven rocks to the drift log and sat.