Catch Me If You Can

by Juliette Cosway

  He caressed the outline of her body, encased in soft wool and layered undergarments. Damn the gown. He longed to remove every stitch of clothing and kiss her whole body from head to toe. He longed to hear more of those sweet moans of pleasure she was making. He trailed kisses down the soft skin of her throat.

  “I find you affect me in astonishing ways, Mr. Rivers,” she murmured.

  The words sent tension through his body, which was already taut with amorous desires. He growled against her throat, then pressed her back over the illuminated dials to kiss her again.

  A sound reached him, reminding him where they were.

  The officer was returning. Lifting his head, he caught sight of a reflection of himself in the mirrored dials. He had a crazed look on his face, as if he’d been thrown overboard and hauled back in. What on earth is happening here?

  He straightened up, backed away from her.

  Desire filled her eyes, her expression laced with disappointment when he moved away. She was like a little lost kitten that needed to be stroked again.

  At that moment he realized what it was that made her so fascinating to him. Her perfect mixture of candor and innocence. That was far too heady a concoction in an attractive young lady for him or any man to be able to deal with in a logical fashion.

  “I’ll escort you back to the terrace lounge.”

  He gave the officer a curt acknowledgement and thanked him for his time, then directed Eleanor out by the arm.

  He led her quickly down the many staircases and corridors back toward the passenger decks, relying on their pace to rule out the possibility of further conversation or interaction.

  “Is it your intention to run me off my feet?” she said, on their third staircase, and she gasped for breath.

  He drew to a halt. “It is my intention to deliver you back to your friend. I’ll comply with your request to leave you alone by maintaining some distance between us, which –- might I point out – I’ve tried to do, despite your endeavors to make that request untenable.”

  Her cheeks flamed. “Can’t I admit to being in error when I made the request?”

  The plea in her expression made him ache. He softened. He knew how hard that must have been for such a headstrong young woman to admit. Her contrition was adorable.

  “The thing is I don’t believe you were in error, my sweet.” The small distance between them was vanishing again. He sighed. “It’s for the best.” He lifted her chin with one finger, allowing himself one moment to sink into her eyes. The longing he saw there was echoed within him. “In the confines of the ship, I find you a dangerous temptation.”

  Her eyes widened, as if she were surprised at his comment.

  Act now, further your cause. “May I call on you at your friend’s home in New York, where we can hope to restore our friendship?”

  She nodded. There was confusion in her expression. However, it couldn’t equal the turmoil in his mind. His shallow attempts at reason and logic could only push forth the alternate plan he’d been considering, to monitor her and waylay her in New York.

  “Are you intending to avoid me entirely, until then?” she whispered.

  “Believe me, I don’t wish to do so, but perhaps it’s for the best.”

  He glanced around and found they weren’t far from their original starting point. “Can you find your way from here?”

  She nodded again, sadness in her expression.

  He bent over her hand, kissing it gently, his eyes closing. Then he said goodbye.

  Back in his cabin, he couldn’t rid himself of the bereft, unhappy look she’d given him as he took his leave. Would it have been madness to stay with her, or had it been madness to leave her side?

  * * *

  Eleanor burned up with embarrassment.

  Yet again, she’d made a complete fool of herself in front of Mr. Rivers. He didn’t find her attractive. It was as simple as that. It had to be. He’d said he wanted to “restore their friendship.”

  She vowed not to be so foolish again.

  From that moment on, she flung herself instead into the activities offered aboard ship, partaking in both shuffleboard and a draughts tournament before the afternoon was out. It was quite exhausting, and still it was impossible to keep her mind from wandering back over what had taken place between them.

  After dinner that evening, Hilda, the dowager from the captain’s dinner table, attached herself to the two young women – much to Miette’s chagrin. However, Eleanor was glad of any such distraction and asked her and Miette to share a game of backgammon with her, in order to fill her mind with something other than memories of Rivers – his powerful arms, and the astounded look on his face when she’d been forward.

  Miette took her leave at the mention of the game and retired to her cabin.

  “Your friend is a flighty thing,” Hilda said, when she’d gone.

  Eleanor didn’t know quite how to reply, being both implicated and amused at the same time.

  The older woman, however, developed a sparkle in her eyes. “Mind you, there’s nothing wrong with that, when you are young enough to enjoy it.” She smiled to herself, as if hunting back through her grand collection of memories. “When my husband and I headed to the Klondike back in the fifties, many a lusty young man was after me as we traveled along the route.” She sighed deeply, her massive bosom heaving with the effort. “Not that I suppose you would believe that, looking at this old lady in front of you now?”

  She sat back in her chair and looked at Eleanor, awaiting her response.

  “You traveled to the Klondike?” Eleanor said, her eyes opening wide.

  The dowager looked surprised, for she’d obviously been expecting a gracious remark about her looks, which would have set her rambling through the long tale of her love life.

  “Yes, m’dear. Wagon train, 1852. Bit of an eccentric my husband. God rest him.”

  Eleanor’s spirits lifted at the unexpected find. “I must hear all about it. I’m most keen to travel overland myself and have an eager ear for anyone’s experiences.”

  The evening pianist had taken his seat and began to play.

  Eleanor drew her chair nearer to her companion.

  It was obviously not quite what Hilda had in mind, but she quickly adapted her storytelling material to suit the company.

  Eleanor kept her chatting until well after they should have retired, and until she’d quite worn the old dear out. Hilda had painted some marvelous images with her tales. It was the perfect antidote to the unfortunate episode earlier that day. That night, Eleanor’s dreams were filled with sights and experiences she hoped to experience on her own journey.

  * * *

  The following morning Eleanor lay in her bath watching the water as it followed the roll of the ship, thinking of the journey ahead. The lap of the water against the sides of the bath seemed quite dramatic all of a sudden. It splashed quite high on one side, spilled over the edge of the tub, then veered back to do the same on the other side. The weather was changing. The sea was getting rougher.

  She left it until eleven before journeying along to Miette’s cabin.

  The ship lurched dramatically and she bumped along the corridors, knocking into other passengers who clasped onto her, before continuing their passage in their own direction. Stewards were putting ropes along the corridor for the passengers to hold onto as they walked. She also noticed the ominous presence of red buckets hanging from hooks, every ten feet or so. She was about to ask their purpose when a passenger staggered toward one, green to the gills.

  She tapped lightly on the door and it was opened as before. Miette was wrapped in a sheet, hair awry. When she put her finger to her lips Eleanor wondered if this occurrence would be repeated on every morning of the voyage.

  However, Miette crooked a finger and beckoned her in, walking back toward the bed, the sheet trailing behind her. The bed was empty.

  Eleanor shut the door and followed her.

  She was about to say something wh
en the sound of splashing water emanated from the bathroom. Miette wasn’t alone, after all. She turned, horror stricken, to Miette, who again put her fingers to her lips and assumed a serious expression, indicating Eleanor should do the same.

  Eleanor shook her head. She couldn’t possibly stay if the captain was here.

  The bathroom door handle turned. It was too late to escape.

  Eleanor’s stomach tightened with the suspense. The door opened and a naked man emerged, his face buried in a towel. Eleanor averted her eyes from what she assumed was the captain’s manly nakedness, but as the man removed the towel and looked up she realized it wasn’t him at all, it was in fact Officer Freddie Simpkins.

  The young man stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her standing there, his eyes large and his expression aghast as he looked from one woman to the other. His mouth fell open and he quickly moved the towel southerly, to hide his embarrassment.

  Eleanor looked at Miette who had assumed an innocent, enquiring expression. Eleanor maintained her composure as best she could, wondering what would happen next. She didn’t intend to say anything, and clearly Miette was going to wait and see what the poor man did next.

  Freddie gulped nervously then glanced around the cabin in desperation. He darted out, grabbed his clothes from a chair, ran back into the bathroom, and bolted the door heavily behind him. A muffled groan of despair followed.

  The two women looked at each other and Eleanor had to cover her mouth to quell the laughter bubbling up inside. Miette turned on the bed and rolled her face onto the pillow, her body convulsing.

  When he eventually emerged, dressed, his face was pink to his hair roots and his eyes seemed unable to look anywhere but at the floor. Eleanor was seated in a chair to one side of the cabin, where Miette had instructed her to sit, and she herself was propped up on her pillows, a blanket held delicately up to her shoulders.

  He mumbled, “Excuse me, ladies,” and nodded vaguely around the cabin, his head bobbing about as if he wasn’t exactly sure where they were.

  He started toward the door with his hand outstretched to the handle.

  The ship lurched, and he was thrown off his course. With a loud gasp, he clambered back to the door, breathing fiercely, like some desperate, condemned man. He wrenched the door open as the ship again lurched, and his hands clawed at the frame. He finally dragged himself through the door, the ship apparently endeavoring to make his escape every bit as difficult as the two women had.

  It was a long time before they stopped laughing. Eleanor joined Miette on the bed and their two bodies quaked with it while they spoke disjointed sentences to one another, recounting the poor man’s actions and expressions.

  “You are cruel, Miette,” Eleanor said, eventually calming, her stomach aching with laughter.

  Miette gave a vague wave of dismissal with her hand in response.

  “Hardly,” she replied. “I was hoping that finding us both here, he would pleasure us both with his attentions.”

  Both of them? Eleanor stared at her friend in stunned disbelief. She was quite convinced she knew nothing about the world and its peculiar ways, after all. Seeing the smirk on her friend’s face, though, she quickly gathered herself. “If that was your plan then you should have picked a more mature man.”

  She was bluffing and Miette clearly knew it.

  She lay back against her pillows and looked at Eleanor with narrowed eyes. “A more mature man, such as…Ari Redon?”

  The unexpected mention of their old fencing master startled Eleanor. “Ari?”

  “Yes, Ari.” Miette reached for the steward button and pressed three times, her code to beckon for Felix. “He’s in New York.”

  Eleanor stared at her, her mind trying to comprehend the series of revelations Miette had launched on her.

  “Oh dear, I feel the sea in my stomach.” Miette grimaced at the increasing roll in the ship’s passage, but continued with her story. “Ari was suspended from his position in Toulouse. It was the dragon, Madame de Oublette. You were correct when you said that she wanted him. However, Ari didn’t want her. She saw to it that his reputation was ruined.”

  Eleanor listened, fascinated. Miette hadn’t told her this before now. Why not?

  “I kept in touch with him and, eventually, when I settled into New York society, I arranged for him to take a teaching post there. In fact we sponsored a new fencing academy and he’s now the director.” She looked at Eleanor. “We see him regularly.”

  Before Eleanor had a chance to muster a reply, there was a tap at the door and Felix entered.

  “Felix, darling, please bring me some warm milk and a poached egg. Do you know if we have to endure this rough weather for long?”

  Felix came right over to them, his legs brushing against the bed, his sharp eyes taking in the two women amongst the tumble of sheets and pillows.

  “I believe it may be like this or worse for some time.”

  “Oh dear, better make it milk and brandy then. I’ll try to sleep through it.”

  Eleanor was surprised for she’d not realized that her feisty friend had such a delicate constitution. The movement of the ship hadn’t affected her own well being adversely. “I’ll leave you to sleep then, unless there is anything I can do?”

  Miette waved her hand vaguely, turning into the pillows.

  Eleanor took her leave. As she walked back to her own cabin the news that Miette had imparted sank in. Ari Redon is in New York.

  It was the last thing Eleanor had expected to hear.

  Chapter Ten

  The Hunter Stalks

  The bad weather lasted for several days.

  Miette was totally confined to her bed and there appeared to be no sign of Rivers either. Eleanor found herself concerned as to whether he too had been afflicted with the seasickness. She shooed the thought from her mind, for she found it made her worry and she advised herself she shouldn’t be concerned about his well being. For some reason it was difficult to dismiss her concerns altogether.

  Christmas Day came and went with a somber collection of passengers gathered for the midday service and the celebratory dinner. Less than one quarter of the tables were occupied and Eleanor once again found herself invited to dine with a small group at the captain’s table.

  The captain was as jolly and endearing as ever, delighting her with tales of previous storms he’d encountered, including one where they had to bolt all the doors from the inside and keep everyone including the crew locked in, for fear of being washed overboard. He didn’t appear to notice that many of the guests sat in silence during his tales, the color slowly draining from their faces.

  Hilda was seated opposite Eleanor, having dragged herself from her cabin for the special occasion. She sat, strangely diminished in stature, pushing her food around the plate with her fork, one hand constantly on her stomach as if to quell the storm raging there.

  “Will the bad weather slow the ship’s progress?” Eleanor asked.

  “I’m afraid so, Miss Craven, probably an extra day or even two, if it carries on this way.” He smiled at her over his punch goblet. It didn’t worry him, he was apparently at one with the elements. “You seem to be faring pretty well, despite the discomfort. Even some of my crew have been hit by this one, but you still seem as rosy as ever.”

  She was pleased at the flattery in his words. She rather enjoyed the image of herself as the intrepid and invincible traveler.

  Hilda waved a lace handkerchief in front of her face and mumbled something about leaving their company. She promptly passed out on the table, her plate tipping up against her hair, its contents sliding over the tablecloth. The captain gave a surprised glance at the woman and beckoned to a steward. Eleanor sprang up and asked if anyone had lavender salts. Hilda was soon after returned to her cabin when their efforts to revive her were rewarded by a faint smile on the woman’s gravy stained face.

  Eleanor spent much of this time in her cabin reading through her father’s diary and making a list of t
hings she would need to buy in New York, or St Joseph, for the journey on horseback. The diary lifted her spirits, and she planned to give it to Frieda when she arrived in California, for it was Frieda’s story too.

  She had her food delivered to her when she was hungry. There seemed little point in trying to keep up the charade of elegant dining when plates slid about on the table and the sounds of crashing utensils from the kitchens provided the music for the occasion. The ship journey had become increasingly boring and for the first time she understood why Miette thought it tedious and had to devise distractions.

  The drama of the weather itself entertained her somewhat and she spent a good deal of time watching the sea from the portholes along the enclosed part of the promenade deck. Huddled in her big coat, she let the ship’s movement fill her view entirely with sky one moment and entirely by the peaked waves of the ocean the next. She thought about Ari. She’d been rather enamored of him three years before.

  What would transpire if they met again?

  She thought, too, about Rivers. She looked for him on her walks.

  He was nowhere to be seen.

  * * *

  In the afternoons she played patience in the terrace lounge, on a table with a covering that helped to hold the cards in place during bad weather. Often she was the only passenger there and the steward adopted a less formal attitude, chatting to her about his work and what they had seen of New York. Meanwhile, the pianist played on and on, the flourish of his hand movements somehow exaggerated by the ships rolling.

  She was sitting there one evening when Freddie Simpkins approached, a plea in his expression. Dear Lord, he’s going to attempt to apologize for his behavior.

  The idea of it was too much. She turned her shoulders haughtily away, as if hurt, and when she looked again he’d gone. She felt concerned for him, momentarily, but the thought of his puppy-dog face soon banished it.

  To escape his presence, she decided to take a walk around the promenade deck, even though it was already growing dark and the wind had not diminished at all.