by Jane Toombs
She tapped on the door. Captain Nyland, dressed in black, offered his arm and then escorted her to a small dining area. He held her chair before seating himself on the other side of the table. Looking around, she saw she was the only guest present.
"Am I too early?” she asked.
"No, no, the others will be along. They've been unavoidably detained. Meanwhile, we'll have some refreshment. As you know, I abhor strong drink, but wine, being a Biblical drink, is therefore permissible.” He looked away from her, clapped his hands and called, “Henry!"
His mess-boy came hurrying from the galley. He placed two sparkling stemmed glasses on the table before picking up a wine bottle. The captain nodded and Henry poured a small amount into the captain's glass. He sipped it and nodded again, whereupon Henry filled Mary's glass, then the captain's.
"To a speedy voyage,” Captain Nyland said, raising his glass until it touched Mary's.
"A speedy voyage,” she repeated, then took a ladylike swallow of the white wine. She was not at all accustomed to wine, though she had tasted it once or twice. None quite so good as this, though. She took another swallow, relishing the warmth as it made its way down. Who could ever have thought that Mary Vere would be sitting in an expensive gown, drinking fine wine with the captain of a ship?
She smiled at him and asked, “What kind of wine is this?"
"Chablis,” he said. “Is it to your liking?"
She nodded and he raised his glass again, saying, “To the Chablis."
Before she knew it, her glass was empty. Henry having disappeared, the captain refilled hers and his both. As she sipped the second glass, the warm glow deepened and spread through her. The ship rose and fell with a gentle, lulling motion.
She'd never realized wine could make anyone feel so—so free. Free, as though she'd left all her cares ashore. If only Jeremy were sitting across from her instead of the captain, everything would be perfect.
"Is Mr. Johnston one of your guests?” she asked. Her voice sounded strange to her, as though coming from a great distance.
He shook his head.
"Too bad,” she said, then covered her mouth and giggled. She shouldn't have said that. Swallowing more of the wine, she tried for a ladylike comment. “I don't really care if Mr. Johnson comes to your wonderful dinner or not.” Some of the words had been difficult for her to say properly and she wondered why. Also the captain was staring at her.
Had she spilled wine on her bodice? She looked. No, she hadn't.
He refilled her glass again, then his. She hadn't even noticed hers was empty. “I've always wanted to travel,” she said.
"May you journey to each of the seven seas,” he said, raising his glass.
She sipped the wine as he named the ports of call he'd visited, proposing a toast to each of them. When she'd first arrived, Mary had been hungry and had looked for Henry to return with a first course. Now, though, she didn't care if she ever ate. The cabin seemed to whirl pleasantly around.
"We're being sucked down into a great whirlpool,” she said, wondering why her tongue was so thick. “We're going around and around and around."
"Would you like to lie down for a moment?” Captain Nyland asked.
"Can't. What'll the other guests think?"
"You are my only guest,” he told her.
That struck her as funny, and she began to giggle. “Why don't you ever smile?” she asked.
He lowered his head into his hands. “My wife is dead. My only daughter as well. They were killed in a fire while I was at sea."
"Horrible. Terrible. Poor Captain."
"Call me Nehemiah."
"Nehemiah,” she repeated and giggled again. Recalling what he'd said, she stopped. He needed comfort, not laughter.
"Sometimes,” he went on, “I despair. Life is so meaningless."
She rose, finding her legs wobbly, but made her way around the table where she planned to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder. He stood up before she got there and reached for her. His arms no sooner went around her than the ship rose bow first. They staggered backward, his lips seeking hers. Her thoughts in a blur, she drew away from him, stumbled, and fell onto his berth.
He knelt beside the bed, his hands pulling at her gown, pulling the cloth off her shoulders. With everything whirling about so, she had trouble making sense of what was happening. She felt his lips, warm and seeking on her throat and the upper curve of her breast. Him? Jeremy? She struggled to open her eyes and failed. Now his mouth was on her bare breast, his tongue circling her nipple. A wave of need swamped her. More, she wanted more.
She felt the weight of his body pressing her down as his lips found hers in a long kiss that made her sigh with pleasure. With a sigh, she encircled his neck with her arms, floating around and around, down and down. She kissed him back, clinging passionately to him. Her lips left his to murmur, “Jeremy."
[Back to Table of Contents]
CHAPTER 6
"Nehemiah,” he whispered, sliding a hand under her skirt.
Mary's eyes flew open and she stared into Captain Nyland's blue ones.
Captain Nyland? Where was Jeremy? Her mind a whirl of confusion, she tried to push the captain away, but he held her to him with one hand on her back, the other on her leg.
She squirmed to one side. He followed, lying on the narrow berth and crowding her against the far bulkhead. Her mind cleared enough for her to realize she wanted no part of this. She screamed. He drew back, looking at her in surprise.
"Let me up,” she cried.
"Take off your dress,” he whispered hoarsely. “Here, let me help.” His hands went to the buttons on the front of her torn bodice.
She put both of her hands on his chest and shoved as hard as she could. The captain lost his balance and tumbled from the berth onto the cabin deck, where he lay staring up at her. As he muttered to himself, not an oath, she was certain, she slid from the bunk. By the time he'd rolled over onto his knees, she'd edged past him, and when he clambered to his feet, she was already at the door.
She threw it open and fled along the narrow corridor. Glancing over her shoulder as she ran with the captain in pursuit, she collided with a man blocking her way.
"Jeremy!” she cried.
He shoved her aside and faced the captain. Belatedly realizing her partial nakedness, Mary tried to hold her torn bodice over her breasts as she watched the two men.
Captain Nyland stopped short. “This is my ship,” he said thickly. “Get out of my way."
Jeremy's face flushed with rage. “I don't give a Goddamn whose ship it is."
"I won't permit blasphemy aboard the Columbia,” the captain said.
"You rotten hypocrite,” Jeremy snarled. “No blasphemy, no gambling, no liquor. I note you don't include fornication on your list of don'ts."
The two men glared at each other, the air between them thick with tension. Jeremy was taller and younger. Even though Captain Nyland was lithe and strong, Mary knew Jeremy could hurt him and soon the scandal would be all over the ship.
Jeremy's hand clenched into a fist, and she cried, “No, don't. It was my fault.” When he paid no attention, she grasped his arm, holding onto him with both hands.
He glanced at her, his gaze falling on the torn bodice that exposed her breasts. His jaw tightened and he shook her loose.
"Captain!” a man called.
All three turned to look at a crewman who was trying his best not to notice Mary's dishabille. He cleared his throat. “Captain,” he said again.
"What is it, Jenkins?” Captain Nyland asked.
"You're needed forward. A fight over cards."
"Gambling? On my ship?” The captain pushed past Mary, stepping around Jeremy while glaring at him, and disappeared up the ladder, with Jenkins behind him. Mary thought the captain had looked relieved at the interruption.
Jeremy turned to Mary, frowning. By now she'd had time to think about what Jenkins had said and she spoke first. “Philippe, do you think?"
<
br /> "I hope not,” he growled. “But, if so, he can take care of himself.” He grasped her arm so hard it hurt. “Get into your cabin before the entire ship sees you half undressed."
"Let go of me,” she cried.
He paid no attention, pushing her ahead of him. “Slut,” he muttered. “Whore."
Stunned, her breath caught and her eyes filled with tears. Jeremy unlatched her cabin door and shoved her inside. She stumbled across the cabin, unseeing, hearing the cabin door slam shut. She sobbed out loud, clutching her torn bodice together.
"Why so modest all at once?” Jeremy's voice startled her for she'd thought he hadn't followed her in. “Do you save yourself for ship's captains? Philippe was right ... you're a good actress."
"I'm not. I'm not.” She covered her face with her hands, too miserable to care about her torn dress. “He invited me for dinner, letting me believe there'd be other guests."
"A likely tale."
Anger sizzled along her nerves, cutting short her weeping. She turned on him and cried, “Get out!"
His gaze fastened on her bared breasts, belatedly leaving them to come to rest on her face. What she saw in his eyes—disgust mixed with desire—frightened her. She wanted Jeremy, yes, but not this way. Damn him! Damn all men!
Mary flew at him, pummeling his chest with her fists, angry and hurt, wanting to wound him. He grasped her wrists and held her away until her fury was spent. When she went limp, he released her wrists and slipped his hand under her hair to caress her nape. As her eyes widened in surprise, he drew her to him and kissed her. She began to struggle, but then a languor spread through her and she lost herself in the kiss, hoping it would never end. A trembling began within her, a feeling she had never experienced before, a radiating warmth, a rising tide of excitement.
His kiss went on and on, his lips bruising hers, her breasts pressed against the cloth of his shirt as her arms rose to circle his neck. When the memory of kissing the captain caught at her, she tried to draw away. Had or hadn't she imagined he was Jeremy? But his hand turned her head so her lips were his again. He touched them with his tongue and she opened to him, his tongue probing deep within. Her heart pounded so hard she though it surely would break free of her chest.
Jeremy let her go and stepped back. “You've been drinking wine."
"He—the captain—served Chablis. He said wine was in the Bible so it didn't count."
Jeremy snorted. “How much did you have?"
"More than I should have,” she admitted. “It was foolish of me."
"I thoroughly agree.” His gaze drawn once more to her bare breasts, he said, “You went this far for the captain. Now take the rest of your clothes off."
Her hand went to the remaining buttons on her gown before she recalled the captain's demand she take off her dress. She froze.
"Well?” he said.
"I ... I can't."
"Surely you've done it before."
Remembering the humiliation of being forced to undress in front of Micah, she shook her head and turned away from him.
He reached out and turned her toward him again. “Then undress me."
Her eyes widened. “You?” she echoed.
He nodded.
Excitement threaded through her again. She could try, couldn't she? More than anything she wanted Jeremy not to leave her. Hesitantly, she twisted the buttons of his shirt, releasing them. He wore nothing underneath. Tempted by the dark hair curling on his chest, she tangled her fingers in it for a moment. He tore off the shirt and threw it aside. “I ... I don't know what to take off next,” she murmured.
He reached for the buttons on her dress and she saw his fingers tremble as he undid them, opening the gown down the front. “Take it off,” he said hoarsely. Mesmerized by the desire in his eyes, she reached down, grasped her skirt and pulled the dress over her head.
He reached to untie her petticoat and drawers, and they joined her dress on the floor. Her only remaining garment, other than her stockings and slippers, was her camisole, torn at the top. He pulled it off, drawing in his breath. She could tell by the dazed look in his eyes that he liked what he saw. Even that depraved Micah had called her a beauty. Maybe she was.
He pulled her to him and the feel of her breasts against his bared chest sent a tingled down to her very core. He lifted her up against him, kissing her, then swung her legs up so one of his arms could grip her under the knees. Carrying her, he crossed to the berth, pulled down the blanket and laid her there. Burning with anticipation, she raised up and eased off her slippers and stockings as she watched him bolt the door and snuff the light, plunging the cabin into darkness.
Though she'd wanted to see him naked, she was afraid to say so, afraid to say anything that might break the magic weaving around them. She heard clothing rustle. The ship rolled, causing great timbers to creak. Mary pictured the endless sea about them, the water heaving up and down as the ship sped northward.
Then Jeremy lay next to her, his body warm against hers and all other thoughts fled. She turned to him, opening her arms to hold him to her. His hand slid between them, trailing up her thigh. She stiffened. No man had ever touched her there, but she was too shy to say so. Would he hurt her? Because she couldn't relax, when he touched her center, the sensation didn't please her.
When his lips found hers, as she melted into the kiss, she found a teasing warmth growing where his fingers touched her, growing until it enveloped her. She should have known Jeremy would never hurt her. She closed her eyes, imagining she was standing on a breakwater gazing across a turbulent sea with the waves crashing around her, the spray stinging her face, the taste of salt in her mouth, its tang in her nostrils.
The waves lessened and the sea receded from the shore to expose the sand and rocks of the ocean floor. Looking out to sea she saw a great wave whose curling crest rose above the horizon. The wave thundered toward her, mounting higher and higher as it roared down on the breakwater.
Through her fantasy of the wave, she was vaguely aware of Jeremy rising above her with something other than his fingers touching her, and then the wave crested and broke over her, making her cry out in shock and pain as she was borne aloft to be carried higher and higher, the water warm about her. She rode the crest of the wave, unresisting as she was swept shoreward.
A trembling rose in her legs, spreading and growing into an excitement that frightened her, carrying her up to sensations she'd never known or even dreamed of. The great wave broke on the sand, the waters of the sea rising higher and higher onto the beach, rushing farther inland than a wave had ever gone. She let herself be swept along, the foam white and warm around her, until she felt sand beneath her, the water receding to leave her naked body glistening in the sun.
She lay on the warm white sand listening to the waves breaking peacefully on the shore. The sun beat down, drying her, her body languorous and content, her skin glowing. Mary stretched, sighing. She had never felt so at peace. Tuning on her berth, she faced Jeremy. Though she couldn't see him, they lay so close on the narrow bed that she knew he was lying on his back. Did he feel as content as she did? Leaning to him, she nuzzled her face against his chest until he turned to her, his fingers caressing her cheek.
"Don't leave me,” she whispered. “Now that we've found each other, never leave me."
He kissed her lips.
"I love you, Jeremy,” she said. “I have from the first moment I saw you.” When he didn't reply, she murmured, “You don't have to say anything. I don't need words. I only need you. Just never leave me as long as we live. Promise me you won't."
"Mary,” he said against her lips, turning her name into a kiss that went on and on until she felt the trembling begin once more, the trembling that rose and grew. Her hand slid between their bodies to touch him, touch what had given her such great pleasure. She drew her hand back, then reached for him again, this time to lead him to her and into her, her legs spreading and then meeting behind him to clasp him close, her arms encircling him as
waves of passion engulfed her.
When her body and his quieted, she still held him to her as though fearful he might escape from her embrace and leave her. Dillie's word crept into her mind. Jubilee. That's what it sure enough was. A jubilee. For a second she pitied Dillie, who found no jubilee with Micah—who could? Then, the scent of Jeremy brought her back to the now.
This is how it will always be between us, she thought. I couldn't love him as I do if he didn't love me, could I? We're not two, we're one. We were meant to be from the beginning. We were fated to meet, to love each other and then go forth not separately, but together.
She fell asleep in his arms. When she awakened, at first she didn't remember why she was so happy, why she felt so right. Jeremy! She reached out to him, but her hand touched only emptiness. Her mind went blank with panic and she sat up.
The ship was rolling and tossing. A wave slammed into the port side and the Columbia shuddered, her timbers groaning in protest. The ship dipped into a trough in the waves, listing until Mary had to grasp the sides of her berth. Slowly the ship righted itself.
She swung her legs from the bed, sensing the emptiness of the cabin. Lighting the lamp, she looked around to confirm it. Rowena came from her basket to twine around Mary's ankles, but Jeremy was gone. Not only was he gone, but he'd left no trace of himself behind. She ran to the door and threw it open. A swaying lamp revealed a deserted passageway.
Slowly, she closed and bolted the door. How foolish, she told herself. She had no reason to be so fearful. Jeremy had been with her, and they had loved each other. Nothing could ever be the same again for her and, she was sure, for him. She loved him; her body ached for his touch. Hugging herself, she smiled at the memory of their lovemaking.
Mary picked up the cat and held her to her cheek. “He's mine,” she whispered.
* * * *
The Columbia sailed through the narrows into San Francisco Bay on a sun-spangled day in early July. Mary saw the spacious harbor open before them, what Philippe, at the rail with her, had told her was the Marin headland to the left. To the right, two cannon sat guarding a bluff with an American flag blowing in the sea breeze between and above them.