Dragon Tamer

by Jane Bonander

  “Women aren’t cut out for business,” one of them had said.

  “It’s not a good investment for us,” another had hedged.

  “Marry again.” The portly banker from Boston Trust had patted her hand in a fatherly fashion. “Raise a family.” And, heaven help her, he was the one who angered her the most. As if all of a woman’s problems were solved by marrying and having children. Hers certainly weren’t.

  She bit back the slight quivering in her lower lip as she recalled her own attempt at motherhood, and her miscarriage aboard ship. Some things were not meant to be, but oh, if the child had survived, she would now have something precious to live for, to love.

  Mrs. Lauder had stalked her again that very morning, demanding the rent. Eleanor promised she would have the money later today. It appeared it would be an empty promise.

  She took another sip of tea and sagged into the settee, resting her head against the hard wooden back. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her young niece Lydia sashay into the room. In spite of her gloomy mood, Eleanor smiled. Lydia wore one of her mother’s hats over her cinnamon curls, a sable cape, and held a parasol.

  “Hello, Lydia. You’re looking lovely, as ever.” Lydia was easy to humor.

  Lydia stood directly in front of her, parasol poised. “The word ‘pound’ is abbreviated ‘lb.’ Do you know why?”

  Already at age eight, Lydia proved to be brilliant. She had a marvelous head for trivia. “No, I don’t, but I hope you’ll tell me.”

  Her niece gave her a dimpled smile. “It’s after the constellation ‘Libra,’ meaning ‘scales.’ You know, the kind that weigh things. Not the kind on dragons and snakes.”

  Dragons. Eleanor stiffened at the memory of Dante Templeton’s dragon, one that slithered and skulked over his skin as if it were alive. “I see. And where did you read such an interesting fact?”

  She shrugged. “In a book I found in Papa’s study.” She pirouetted around the room, her Scotch poplin dress with the cherry velvet trim swinging daintily as she moved.

  “How is school?”

  Lydia made a face and danced on her tiptoes. “It’s boring. I already know more than the teacher; I don’t see why I have to go every day.” She pronounced the word “every” in three dramatic syllables.

  She did another little pirouette, then gave Eleanor a quizzical look. “Are you coming to live with us?”

  A tiny bite of alarm jolted her. “Live with you?”

  Lydia nodded, her curls bobbing. “I’d like that. You could teach me to play the piano.”

  “I could give you piano lessons without living here, dear.”

  “Yes, but I heard Mamma and Papa talking about you living here, with us.”

  Surprise mingled with her initial alarm. “You did, did you? And what did they say?”

  Before Lydia could answer, her father rushed into the room looking harried. “Oh, there you are, Lydia. Go see Butterfly. She has fresh cookies for you.”

  Butterfly was her brother’s cook, a woman of polished brown skin who had returned from the Islands with a whaler and decided to stay. But Butterfly was anything but “butterflylike.” Eleanor imagined the woman weighed close to three hundred pounds.

  With a bored sigh, Lydia raised one slender shoulder and flounced from the room.

  Eleanor noticed some new gray strands in Calvin’s mussed brown hair as he ran a nervous hand through it. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Ellie, but business is quite hectic, you know.”

  Calvin was a bookkeeper for one of the largest fisheries on the east coast. He and his wife and daughter lived very well. Even so, Eleanor hated to ask him for money. But she might just as well get it over with.

  “Cal,” she began, “you know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary, but—”

  She related her session with the owner of the whaler and her discovery that Amos had been in debt and had used the St. Louis as collateral, and her inability to convince a single banker in Boston that she needed a loan. She purposely omitted her meeting at Whispering Winds, not wanting to recount her unpleasant confrontation with Dante Templeton.

  “You’re my last hope. You know I wouldn’t have come to you if there had been any other way.”

  Calvin never once looked her directly in the eye as she spoke to him. When she had finished, he drew in a great sigh.

  “I wish I could help, Ellie, you know I do. But…” Another sigh. “That’s a lot of money, and I just don’t have it. And I know without asking what Willa’s answer will be.”

  “Willa’s answer?” Eleanor asked cautiously.

  Calvin nodded. “She’s already planning to redecorate the house. We had to move all of our old furniture into this place, and now she’s embarrassed to entertain.” He looked away, unable to meet Eleanor’s gaze. “Status is very important to her, you know.”

  Eleanor held her tongue, but petty words about Willa’s need for social approval pressed hard against her teeth, and she felt a pinch of guilt.

  “Why do you want the worry of the St. Louis, anyway?”

  “Why?” Eleanor was shocked. “Because I need a livelihood.”

  Calvin frowned. “But you could teach piano.”

  “I hardly think I could get enough students to make a living at it, Cal,” she reasoned. “Now, for whaling, I have a good head for numbers, and I know exactly what supplies are used and how many are needed for a voyage. I can pick out a decent crew, something even Amos admitted. All I need is someone to captain the vessel.”

  She paused and waited.

  “Ellie, you always were the one who could do anything you put your mind to. But…” He ran his fingers through his rumpled hair again. “To be perfectly honest, I’m pretty strapped right now. It isn’t easy to keep a woman like Willa happy. She… she’s high-strung, you know. Delicate. And if allowing her to buy what she wants keeps her content, it’s worth it. You know I’ve never enjoyed confrontation, and when she gets upset, she has these spells…” His voice trailed off, but his expression begged for understanding.

  Eleanor glanced at her lap. Willa’s “spells” were merely adult temper tantrums. And she was about as delicate as a blubber knife.

  But it was true that Calvin had never liked conflict. Even as a child, Eleanor often got into trouble because of her outspoken ways, but Cal had always been “the best little boy.”

  And since her return from the sea, Eleanor had noticed a change in her brother. He seemed more frazzled. Less able to carry out his responsibilities. He even seemed to ignore Lydia, which made Eleanor’s heart ache, for her niece was such a special, wonderful gift.

  She studied the frayed edges of her black shawl, rubbing it between her fingers, wondering what to do next.

  “But don’t you worry, now,” he continued. “We want you to come and live with us. Willa and I talked it over, and it’s the right thing to do. Relatives shouldn’t be put out into the cold, like so much rubbish. We’re family and we must stick together.”

  Eleanor tried not to screw up her face. So, this is what she’d become. A widow. A woman alone. A charity case. But for now, she didn’t have a choice. Mrs. Lauder had already threatened to put her belongings by the front door.

  She released a sigh. “Thank you, Cal. That’s generous of you. And I understand about the money.”

  She would accept the charity for now, but she vowed it wouldn’t be a permanent arrangement. Living under the same roof as Willa Simmons was tantamount to public whipping, a punishment Eleanor wouldn’t even wish on Dante Templeton.

  The mere thought of him set her teeth on edge. The first thing she would do when she returned with her belongings was to send a note to the Whispering Winds office and find out if he had a partner. Someone who could perhaps change the peacock’s mind. Someone with some sympathy and understanding for a widow’s plight. In other words, anyone else.

  Percy Pogue shook his head as he watched Dante read the note. “You could have given the widow other options, Dante. I can’t believe
you out and out told her to bring you that much money. You must have known she couldn’t raise it.”

  Dante tensed, but remained stoic.

  “It isn’t like you.” Percy continued. “One of the reasons I came to work for you was because you were generous with your options. I’ve seen you allow debtors to pay you monthly. I’ve seen you take pittance for something that was worth much more.”

  “I have my reasons, Percy, that’s all you have to know.”

  Percy remained quiet for a moment, then stepped to the desk and picked up the widow’s note. “Now, she demands to know if you have a partner, someone who might have a smidgen of sympathy for her situation.”

  “I guess I’m fortunate I don’t, aren’t I?”

  Percy ignored Dante’s sarcasm. “What am I supposed to do about her note?”

  Dante studied the stack of mail that Percy had piled in front of him. “Toss it. Rip it up. I don’t give a damn what you do with it.”

  Percy was quiet for a long, pregnant moment. “I’ve rarely seen this side of you, Dante. I must say I don’t care for it.” When Dante didn’t respond, Percy expelled a mild curse. “You’ve never treated anyone like this before, especially a woman. A widow. What could she have possibly done to you?”

  What had she done? She had married a monster.

  Crack. Crack. Crack. The whip ripped into his flesh.

  “If you want to keep your job, Percy, drop it.”

  Percy couldn’t. “Imagine. Sending a poor widow out to borrow that kind of money. You knew she wouldn’t get a loan. No banker worth his salt would give her one. You knew that, didn’t you? She has no security. We have her only collateral.”

  “I said drop it, Percy, or find yourself another job.” Dante crossed to the window and looked out over the harbor.

  Will we go to sea, Damien?

  We will go to sea, little brother, and become rich.

  Will we always be together?

  I will never leave you, Dante, and one day, when we’ve made our fortunes, the winds will whisper our names forever.

  Dante stared out at the green, foamy ocean. There was emptiness deep inside his heart.

  But the image of feisty yet vulnerable Eleanor Rayburn slid unwillingly into his mind. Like Percy, Dante had to ask himself why he was taking his vengeance out on a supposedly innocent soul.

  Over a breakfast of fresh rolls and marmalade, Eleanor read Mr. Pogue’s vague note and felt a bite of impatience. Her two days had come and gone, but she was determined as ever to make Mr. Templeton understand her predicament.

  “Oh, there you are.” Willa stepped into the dining room. “I let Mrs. Myers go this morning.”

  Eleanor lifted her teacup to her mouth. “Your housekeeper? Wasn’t she doing a good job?”

  “Oh, she was fine. But with you here, it’s foolish to spend money on hired help.”

  Eleanor should have seen that one coming.

  Willa straightened the flower arrangement on the marble-topped sideboard, then primped a moment in the heavy gold-edged mirror that hung above it.

  With her dark, reddish hair and her fair complexion, she was not an unattractive woman, Eleanor realized, but her temperament was unpleasant, which, to Eleanor’s mind, made her a disagreeable sort altogether.

  “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Of course not, Willa. It’s the only way I can pay for my room and board,” she admitted, upset, not at working for her keep but at Willa’s way of manipulating her. It would have been nice to be asked.

  Willa flashed her a wide, condescending smile. “I knew you’d understand. There wasn’t any point in having both of you here.”

  Yes, and why pay a housekeeper when she can have Eleanor for free? Eleanor took a bite of the buttery roll and chewed hard.

  Willa cleared her throat and reached into the pocket of her trimmed apron. She pulled out a piece of paper. “I’ve made a list of things for you to do today.” She placed the sheet in front of Eleanor.

  Eleanor eyed it but didn’t pick it up.

  Willa frowned. “I hope you didn’t have other plans. It usually took Mrs. Myers all day to get her chores done.” She waited for Eleanor to look at the list and when she didn’t, Willa cleared her throat again and patted her hair.

  “Lydia said you wanted to give her piano lessons.”

  “I’d be happy to. You know that.”

  “Well, then I think I have more good news for you.”

  Suspicious of what Willa considered good news, Eleanor gazed at her over the top of her teacup. “I’m always in the mood for that.”

  Willa beamed. “I’ve lined up three other piano students for you. And they will pay you.”

  Eleanor smiled, pleased and surprised. “Thank you, Willa. That was thoughtful of you.”

  “Yes, I thought perhaps you should have a little spending money. Maybe buy yourself a new gown.” She looked with pity at Eleanor’s dress, then stood up.

  “I have a luncheon at the Taft’s and dinner menus to plan for next week. Then, there’s tea at the Stafford’s.” She crossed to the doorway, then paused. “You will look at that list, won’t you? And start Lydia’s piano lessons this afternoon. You’re scheduled to give the Taft twins a lesson tomorrow.” Without waiting for Eleanor to respond, she left the room.

  Eleanor washed down the remainder of her breakfast with a long sip of tea. She would probably never know what it was like to have a social calendar like Willa’s, where she had nothing to do but attend teas and luncheons and plan dinner menus. But that was all right. Eleanor had a suspicion that it would only bore her; she loved to be busy actually doing something useful.

  Yet she couldn’t fault women like Willa who were brought up to be exactly what they were: women who depended on a husband to take care of the business while they tended the household. It was, after all, the accepted practice.

  She mentally planned her day. She had hoped to spend some time each week with the children at the orphanage. It was the only bright spot in her life. And it was probably the only way she was ever going to get over the awful weepy feeling that swept over her when she thought about her own lost child.

  While Amos had been at sea, Eleanor spent time at the orphanage in New Bedford. The moment she arrived in Boston after his death, she contacted the orphanage on the North End.

  She had always felt so alive with children around her. It made her feel as though her life had some meaning. Now, at the Sheltering Arms, little Martha was just beginning to warm to her, and Victor, by far the most rambunctious of the new children, had even smiled at her the other day. But each child was special, and if she used her time wisely, she still could spend an hour or two with them.

  With a resigned sigh, she looked at her list of chores.

  The rest of the day, as she polished the banister, removed the upstairs curtains, aired them, hung them back over the windows and mopped the entry, she wondered how she would ever regain the whaler. She never once believed that she would not.

  Three

  The Sheltering Arms orphanage sat alone and forgotten on a small hill above the ocean at the north end of Boston. The building itself needed work; the mortar between the bricks had chipped away over the years. Salt air had eroded the wood that held the windows, and some of the upper panes were broken, the windows boarded over.

  On close examination, the wooden cross that marked the road leading up to the building appeared decades older than it was. However, the words “Bring me the children of Jesus” that were etched into the stone on the doorstep never seemed to show wear.

  Dante continued to put money into the place, but it seemed that when one thing was finally fixed, another fell apart. It was a never-ending process, although he made the repairs gladly, wishing he could simply tear the place down and build a new one.

  All in all, though, had the orphanage not been run by the “sisters of tenacious persistence and inflexibility,” as Dante fondly called them, it would have collapsed from community neglect.


  He had realized years ago that the only women he respected were the nuns at Sheltering Arms. They had a purpose: to raise healthy and useful young men and girls who would eventually become the women who would run their homes. He visited the place often when he was home. It was the only home he had known, other than the sea.

  He took the steps two at a time, stopping when the abbess, Sister Mary Francis, opened the door. Her expression was stern.

  “Good morning. Sister Mary Frank.”

  As usual, she raised a severe eyebrow at the casual use of her name, but her eyes held warmth. “He’s at it again, Dante.”

  Dante followed her inside. The faint odor of disinfectant mingled with slightly burned breakfast cereal hung in the air. The scents and smells from his childhood never changed.

  “What’s he done now?” He followed Sister Mary Frank down the long, dimly lit hallway. He had to move quickly to keep up with her purposeful strides.

  “He collected frogs and other disgusting vermin and did disgraceful things with them.”

  They turned and walked along another hallway. Somewhere in the distance, Dante heard laughter and singing. “Disgraceful? Like wearing them around his neck? Feeding them at the table?”

  “Don’t be flippant, Dante, it doesn’t become you.”

  “Hmm. I always thought it did.”

  She tossed him one of her looks as they stopped at the door to a long dormitory room. “He put one in each of the girls’ beds. You should have heard the chaos that erupted from their rooms last night.”

  “They’re just pranks, Sister.”

  She pinned him with a hard glare. “Perhaps. But they are disruptive and he has done worse.”

  Dante remembered. Not long after Victor came to Sheltering Arms, he had attempted to burn down the woodshed. Fortunately, Dante had been there to stop him. It was their first of many confrontations. But Dante was drawn to the wild young boy. They had much in common.

  Sister Mary Frank opened the door, ushering Dante into the room. The boy sat on the edge of his bed, his shoulders slumped.