The Beaches and Brides ROMANCE COLLECTION: 5 Historical Romances Buoyed by the Sea
Page 18
With her basket beside her, she began throwing bread crumbs to the gathering seagulls. Through the squawks of the gulls, she heard crunching in the rocks behind her and smiled. It never took them long. They didn’t have much else to do but wait for her to come. Five dirt-smudged faces stared expectantly at her. All the children had tears in their clothing, and none of them had bathed or combed their hair in a long time.
She had discovered these homeless orphans a week ago when she’d come down to the beach to contemplate her future after Randolph’s return. With no local orphanage, these children were left to fend for themselves. The good people of uptown had no idea there were any needy children or any needy people at all. They preferred to remain on their safe streets away from the harsh realities of life, thinking everyone lived in the same kind of proper, perfect world they’d sequestered themselves to. They thought that only rough miners heading north to the Alaska gold fields were on the streets below. They didn’t want to know about needy families, women, and children. They preferred to live in their utopian world, looking to the salty water beyond without seeing the riffraff below.
She held out her hands to Samuel on one end and Peter on the other, forming a circle. Together they all recited, “Thank You, Jesus, for this food. Amen.”
“What did you bring uth?” Peter, five years old and the youngest of the bunch, had brown loopy curls and a smile that would one day melt hearts. And, she noticed, he had developed a lisp.
Betsy shook Peter by the shoulder. “Pipe down. That ain’t polite.” At ten and the only girl in the bunch, she’d taken on mothering all four boys—even the two older ones.
“Oh, she don’t mind.” Peter jumped up onto the log next to her. “Do you, Mith Vivian?”
“Betsy is right. If you want to find a good home, you need to have proper manners.” She smiled at the boy. “But I don’t mind.” She put her basket on her lap and pulled back the yellow cloth.
All five children sucked in an audible breath. She handed them each a chunk of cheese, a red apple, and a biscuit. They took the food greedily.
Peter handed back the apple. “I cain’t eat no apple.” The boy turned to her, bared his teeth, and pushed one of his front teeth straight out with his tongue.
It wasn’t hanging on by much and was the reason for his newly acquired lisp.
George, the oldest at fourteen, held out his biscuit to Peter. “Trade?” These kids looked out for each other. They were all each other had.
Peter eagerly swapped his shiny red apple for the fluffy biscuit. If Peter worried about eating the apple with his loose tooth, he’d also have a hard time with the cheese.
She didn’t want him to go hungry on account of his fear over a loose tooth. “Why don’t you let me pull that tooth for you?”
Peter pinched his mouth shut and spoke through pursed lips. “No, ma’am.”
“It will be easier to eat.”
He shook his head hard, brown curls flopping back and forth.
She reached in her skirt pocket past her little gun and pulled out a penny. “I’ll trade you this penny for your tooth.”
Peter’s eyes widened as he stared at the copper coin. He reached into his mouth and pinched his eyes closed as tight as he could get them. He pulled just a bit and held up the tooth in triumph. “Hey, that didn’t hurt.” Then he quickly swapped it for the penny.
“You’re a brave little boy.”
Peter danced around, holding up his prize. “I goth a penny. I goth a penny.”
She noticed George, Samuel, and Tommy staring at the penny. She pulled out five more pennies, leaving four in her pocket, and gave them each one, with Peter getting a second one. She would get another penny from home and give them each another one tomorrow when she brought them Maggie’s fried chicken. The children scattered on the beach to eat.
She looked around at the four older children sitting on the smooth sand that was closer to the water’s edge. George was fourteen and nearly a man. Samuel was twelve, Betsy ten, and Tommy nine. Samuel and Tommy were the only two who were related. She worried about Betsy the most. The boys would eventually find jobs as George had done. Girls had a harder time finding a decent job at a young age. There were two options for Betsy when she got older: find a husband while she was still a girl or become a … Vivian had to do something to help these children. Food was fine for now, but what would they do when the weather turned cold?
The days were already getting cooler. She wanted to take them home but knew Randolph would never approve of orphans running loose in his house. She didn’t even know what would become of her when her husband returned to “deal” with her. She’d liked the idea of having a husband to care for and protect her, but now it was a bit scary having her fate in the hands of someone else.
She stood and went to Betsy, draping the yellow gingham cloth from the basket over the girl’s shoulders. “That’s for you.”
“Thank you, Miss Vivian.”
“Do you know how to sew?” Not that her sewing ability was very good nor had helped her when she was in need those years ago, but maybe Betsy would have better luck, and she would be praying for the girl to get a respectable job. Maybe if someone had been praying for her, things would have turned out differently.
Betsy tipped her head up and shook it. “I never had a mama to show me.”
“I’ll bring some dry good squares tomorrow and teach you.” If the girl took to it, well, maybe she could get a job sewing or mending when she was a little older.
When the children had finished their cheese and tucked their apples and biscuits into their pockets for later, they headed back to wherever they had come from. Vivian wished she could do more for them, but when Randolph returned, she might not be able to do anything for them anymore. Would she be as destitute as they? She knew what that was like.
She headed back up through town, and as she walked, she noticed a man in a Stetson. He tipped his hat back, staring at her openly. She crossed to the other side of the street. He followed and stepped in her path. “Well, aren’t you a purdy thing.”
She tried to sidestep the man, but he blocked her.
Heavy footsteps rushed up behind her. Her heart thumped hard in her chest. His friend, perhaps? Reaching into her pocket, she wrapped her fingers around her Derringer. Only one bullet. Maybe she could scare them off with it.
A sinister voice came from behind her. “You lay one hand on Mrs. Carlyle, and I’ll have to kill you.”
The cowboy held up his hands and backed away. “I’m sorry, mister. Didn’t mean no harm to your missus.”
She turned and smiled at Conner.
Conner’s gaze and pistol remained on the retreating man. When the man was a safe distance away, Conner lowered his gun and turned his glare on her. “What are you doing down here? It’s not safe for a lady to be downtown. Do you know the kind of people who are down here? Miners and strumpets and people like that man and worse.”
If he knew she had been one of those kinds of people he’d just described, he’d be just as disgusted as Randolph. She released her grip on her gun. “I came to see you.” He would only scold her further if he knew she had been down at the water alone. Well, not exactly alone.
The V between his eyebrows deepened. “You shouldn’t have come. If you needed something, you should have sent someone to get me.”
“Let’s get you off the street.” Conner guided Vivian back to his general store, careful not to touch her.
“How did you know to come to my rescue?”
The lilt in her voice tickled his ears. “I saw him follow you across the street.” He’d grabbed his gun from his holster behind the counter and left. “Martin went out to get himself lunch.” Martin Zahn had worked for him for eighteen months. Before that, Conner had had a slew of dishonest men work for him. He had a couple of other all right fellows who worked for him on occasion. “When he returns, I’ll see you home safely.”
“That’s not necessary. I can walk by myself.”
“Can I get a little help here?” A customer called.
He resisted the urge to growl. “I’ll be right with you.” He turned to Vivian. “You’ll be safer waiting in the back.”
“I don’t want to go in the back.”
He did growl now. “Then sit on that stool behind the counter.” He walked her over then looked down at his dog. “You keep an eye on her, Fred.” The dog sat next to the stool. He went to attend to his customer. He waited on several more people before Martin returned. When he reached Vivian, she had Fred on her lap and the Sears and Roebuck catalog open on the counter in front of her.
“I’ll walk you home now.”
She turned to him. “I want to order from the catalog.”
His heart hammered hard at her smile. “You can shop at plenty of places uptown, and I’m sure one of them has a catalog.”
“But I want to order from you, my husband’s dear old friend.”
If Randolph knew the feelings he had for his wife, Conner wouldn’t be his friend anymore. He pulled out a sheet of paper. “What do you want?” The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could get her home and away from his temptation.
Vivian named several things. “Let me know when those come in.”
“I’ll have them delivered to your house. Can we go now?” He needed to get away from her, and to do that, he had to get her back uptown where she belonged.
Vivian held out her hand for him to assist her off the stool. He took it grudgingly, soft and delicate, then dislodged his hand from hers and turned to Martin. “Would you prepare this order and send it?”
On the walk to uptown, Conner kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back and took in slow, controlled breaths. Randolph would be back soon, and then Conner would leave for good. Just a little longer, and he’d be free.
When they reached Randolph and Vivian’s blue Victorian house, she said, “You must be parched. Won’t you come in and have a cup of tea with me?”
His mouth was drier than all get-out, but the last thing he needed to do was socialize with his friend’s wife, who made him wish for things he had no business pining for. Trouble, that’s what it all was, downright heart-wrenching grief any way you sliced it. “I have to get back to my store. Stay uptown,” he ordered.
“Conner, you worry too much.” She touched his arm, and he flinched.
Better to be on his guard and worry too much than not enough and get himself in a heap of trouble. He tipped his hat to her, patted his leg for Fred, who seemed a little confused about who to go with, and left. Once back on the street, he could breathe again. He had to maintain control and distance.
Vivian’s gentle smile and kindness had lassoed his heart as proficiently as if she were an experienced cowhand. And she didn’t realize it. He’d seen so many men who would cut off their right arm for a lady who was nice to them. He hadn’t thought he was one, but Vivian’s sweet nature and acceptance of him without question had dragged him down to a place he didn’t want to be. In love with his best friend’s wife. She didn’t mean to make him fall in love with her, but here he was, the worst kind of man. He would be leaving soon, and it would all get a lot easier.
Chapter 3
Shortly after Conner returned from Vivian’s, Finn came into his store, scratched his whiskers, made eye contact, and headed to the back room. Finn was a strange character in his late fifties with well-worn clothes that bordered on rags.
Conner finished the customer’s purchase and found the old drifter with a cup, drinking the dregs from the coffeepot. “Why the long face?”
Finn had come with Conner over from Seattle two years ago. The old codger helped out when he needed money or food but mostly just hung around to jaw with the miners as they came through. “I have news.”
Finn heard the strangest stories. Conner only believed about half of them. Tall tales were common in port towns. He didn’t think Finn believed most of the stories either, but the older man liked to tell them anyway. “What news?”
Finn swiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve. “About your friend, the captain.”
Finally, Randolph was back, and Conner could pull foot. “When does he dock?”
“He don’t.”
“What?” That didn’t make sense. Randolph should have returned two days ago.
“He was making a run up to Alaska with keg powder and dynamite. The story goes that he was just off the coast when a storm come up. Lightning struck the ship. They say the captain ordered his men to abandon ship. Some of ’em did, but some of ’em stayed and helped the captain try to put out the fire before it reached the cargo hold. It lit up the western sky when it blew, the people on land said.”
“Randolph?”
Finn nodded. “Men say he was still working the fire when it went up.”
“No.” Conner raked his hand through his hair. “Are you sure?”
Finn handed him an Alaskan newspaper. The front-page picture showed something burning on the horizon of the water with a lightning bolt streaking across the sky.
Finn’s story wasn’t just hearsay from the sailors but news. Conner blinked back tears as he read. There was no hope of Randolph making it. “I have to tell Vivian. Can I take this?”
Vivian turned the apple in her hand, spiraling off the peel with a paring knife as she created one long strip. Maggie was making applesauce to can. She hadn’t tasted Maggie’s applesauce before, but if it was anything like her other cooking, it would be delicious.
Scotty, their handyman, entered the kitchen with his old hat pressed to his chest. He acted as butler when he was near, groundskeeper, stableman, and anything else Randolph or Vivian needed him for. But mostly, Randolph let the old man live out his remaining years doing only the jobs he chose to do.
Scotty was stoop-shouldered and had a weathered face. If she had to guess, Vivian would say he was in his seventies. “Mr. Jackson’s here to see you, ma’am. I put him in the parlor.”
Had he come to scold her again? She stood to walk out of the kitchen.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Maggie wiped her hands on her apron.
“To see Conner.”
“Not like that.” Maggie untied Vivian’s apron.
“It’s only Conner, my husband’s dearest friend, who doesn’t care what I look like.”
“You are the wife of Captain Carlyle.” Maggie rolled down the sleeves of Vivian’s white blouse and buttoned the cuffs. “You must always look proper. It would be no good if word got back to the captain that you were working in the kitchen. He’d turn me out on the street.”
Randolph would never get rid of Maggie, but since he already had enough to hold against her, Vivian let Maggie fuss over her and tuck in a hair or two. Maybe if she showed her husband she could be a proper wife to him despite her background, he wouldn’t turn her out and would one day come to love her. She stepped away from Maggie and held out her hands. “That’s quite enough. I’m sure I’m presentable.”
She went straight to the parlor. “Conner, so good to see you.”
Conner turned from where he stood by the window, ashen faced, his expression bleak. “Sit, Vivian.”
Her stomach constricted. “What is it?”
He came around the sofa with a newspaper tucked under his arm. “Sit.”
She didn’t want to sit. Conner loomed six inches taller over her, and she sank back onto the sofa. “Tell me.” Her stomach pinched into a tight ball, and her heart struggled to beat at the sight of Conner’s serious countenance.
Conner hated being the one to break Vivian’s heart with bad news, but better him than a stranger. “It’s Randolph.” He swallowed hard. “His ship went down.”
She gasped. “No. Is he
all right?” She stood. “Take me to him.”
He took her elbow and lowered her back to the sofa. “He didn’t make it.”
Her hand flew to her mouth.
He unfolded the paper.
She gasped. “Is that …?”
“His ship? I’m afraid so.” He wished it weren’t.
She took the paper in a shaky hand and stared at the grainy photo taking up most of the front page. “It shouldn’t have been him. It should have been me.”
What was she saying? The shock must be confusing her. Conner fisted his hands as he watched the agony play on her face. “Maggie.” He wanted to hold her and comfort her, but he knew he couldn’t. “Maggie!”
Maggie entered and looked from Vivian to him. “What have you done to her?” She sat next to Vivian and wrapped an arm around her.
He stared at the woman sitting where he wanted to be. “Captain Carlyle is dead.”
Vivian’s gaze remained on the photo.
Maggie glared at the paper then up at him. “Take that away.”
He folded the paper and slipped it back under his arm.
Vivian’s confused gaze followed the paper then traveled up to his face. “It shouldn’t be this way. He shouldn’t be dead. Maybe he got off.”
Maggie looked to him.
He shook his head.
“Let’s get you up to bed.” She helped Vivian stand and ushered her out of the room.
He turned to Scotty, who stood silently near the doorway. “If she needs anything, come get me. If any of you need anything. I’ll come by tomorrow and see how she’s doing.”
The next morning, Conner shuffled around the kitchen area of the small living quarters above his store. He still couldn’t believe that Randolph wasn’t coming back. Was there any way he could have survived? He unfolded the newspaper and stared at the photograph then shook his head. Anyone on that ship when the powder went up hadn’t had a chance. The concussion from the explosion alone would have rendered anyone nearby unconscious. If they had lived through the blast—whether they were thrown from the ship or not—they would have drowned. His friend was gone, and he had to accept that.