The Sailor and The Shrew

by Laura Stapleton

  Matilda put a hand on his arm as they stepped out into the lobby. “Wait a moment. You’re right. I’m probably not every man’s cup of tea, especially not yours.”

  Bert looked around the foyer. He leaned closer to her, saying just above a whisper, “I never said you weren’t my type. I also don’t care about any other man’s preferences as long as he wouldn’t prefer you.” He put a hand on the middle of her upper back for a second. “Now, we have some straightening out to do with the others, all right?”

  She nodded, her skin warmed through her dress by his touch. Bert led the way to the dining room, opening the double doors for her as she approached. They had the entire empty room to themselves. She relaxed. Alone in a public place gave her a chance to change his mind about confronting the other workers with her. “It appears everyone is busy doing other things. Never mind. We can plan what you’ll say to them later. Let’s find somewhere to talk.”

  Matilda led him to a far table by the window, as distant from the entrances as the large room allowed. He pulled out a chair for her. She sat, saying, “Thank you.” As he settled in his seat, too, she interlaced her fingers before resting her hands on the tabletop. “My favor is, please don’t make me talk to everyone in a group.”

  Bert stared at her for a few seconds, several emotions crossing his face before he said, “Is that all?”

  His smile reassured her about his agreeing to drop the entire matter. Matilda nodded. “Yes, please.”

  He leaned back, crossing his arms before saying, “Very well, but there are a few things I’d like to clear up between us.”

  A sliver of dread raced along her spine. Those words in that order never meant anything good. She’d be gone in a few weeks; at the most, so whatever he had to say couldn’t be all that important. She drummed her fingernails on the tabletop. “Do we really need to? I don’t mind us going along like we have been as coworkers, almost acquaintances.”

  After he gave her a slight grin, a hint of a flush reddened Bert’s face. “We never need to do anything, I suppose. I wanted to clear up your idea about not being my type, because you are.”

  He liked her? Matilda’s cheeks burned, more so after seeing the twinkle in his eyes. “Oh, my, well,” she stammered. Everything about Bert’s personality let her believe she could trust him. Yet, she’d believed in a lot of people back at the Home. All of them except Gloria had disappointed her, eventually. As kind as Bert seemed to be, she couldn’t let him get to her heart any further than he already had. “I suppose that’s reassuring since I plan on moving somewhere else.”

  His smile faded. “Where?”

  Matilda couldn’t meet the anguish in his eyes. She stared at her work-worn fingernails. “I know to look before I leap, so I’m not being rash.”

  He glanced at the doors before taking her slender hands in his own. “I know Bromley said to let you find your own happiness, but I’m not sure you can when you’re running from instead of to something.”

  His strong touch warmed her skin. She shivered, wanting to take refuge in his comforting arms again. Instead, she pulled away from him to set her hands on her lap. “I’m not running. I just don’t want to become too comfortable or let the men become too familiar.”

  Bert narrowed his eyes. “Even me?”

  Unable to look away from him, she nodded. He needed to know that even though she cared for him, she wasn’t ready to trust anyone. Matilda swallowed, her pulse pounding in her throat as she admitted, “Especially you. If I stay, I’ll want to stay with you. I’m not ready for anything more than a passing friendship.”

  “I see.” Bert crossed his arms. “I am truly sorry if I scared you into leaving.” He gave her a slight smile. “I must confess I feel far more ready to build whatever this is between us than it seems you are.”

  Matilda couldn’t meet his gaze because she felt the same. Every second near him left her wanting more from him. But soon enough, he’d learn about her past from someone else, hating her for the truth left untold. No, she gave her head a little shake; she had no choice but to be honest. “No one but the Bromley’s know my past. Once you do, you’ll want to keep your distance.” She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Before you say anything you’ll regret you need to know I was raised in a brothel. My mother was—is—a soiled dove, but I never was. I knew I didn’t want that life.”

  “You didn’t?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut at the calmness in his voice. Matilda had expected rage, disbelief, ridicule, but not acceptance. She fidgeted in her seat, wishing this conversation was already days behind them. “No, never. I ran before the madam could hire me out. As soon as she stopped me from doing chores to keep me pretty, I knew my fate.”

  “Did you run away or did she let you leave?”

  Matilda looked up from the table to his face. Worry creased the corners of his eyes, melting her heart. Bert didn’t seem angry as much as concerned, something she hadn’t hoped for with her confession. She sat a little straighter, emboldened by his acceptance. “I had to sneak out with help from one of my mother’s friends. Gloria gave me money, plus the name of someone I could trust, Mr. Bromley, so I came here first.” She put her hands back on the tablecloth, rubbing a callous on her palm to ease her nerves. “I want a respectable life, but I’m not sure I deserve one, considering my upbringing.”

  Chapter Ten

  Bert wanted to reassure Matilda but kept his mouth shut as Dean sauntered up to them. Keeping his tone as casual as the cook’s stride, Bert asked, “Hey, Dean. Is it dinnertime already?”

  “Naw.” The wiry man pulled out a chair, turning it around before straddling the seat to sit. “A few of us are back in the kitchen getting ready for the next shift.”

  Matilda glanced at Bert before asking the other man, “Did you need me for anything right now?”

  Dean shrugged. “You’re not missing any work. The kitchen’s crowded as it is.” He leaned forward, saying in a quiet voice, “Everyone is either cutting up something for dinner, or getting smacked by Stew for sneaking bites.”

  She smiled. “I suppose that’s why they ran you out of there?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Matilda nodded before addressing Bert. “I have a few things to do before the next meal. If you’ll both excuse me?”

  Bert hopped to his feet before she did, replying, “Certainly. So do I.”

  Dean, who also stood as Matilda left. “Yeah, I figured I’d bust up you two if I came over. Sorry about that.”

  Bert shrugged. He didn’t want the man to feel bad. Any more talking from him might have led to Bert confessing something to her he’d later regret. “We both needed to get back to work, anyway.”

  “Yeah, about your sitting together.” Dean turned the chair to face the table again. He leaned in to quietly say, “I’ve heard rumors about you two. Are they true?”

  Bert bunched his left hand into a fist, his blunted fingertips covered by his thumb. Dean might be lankier than him, but Bert could still teach him a lesson for disrespecting Matilda, if need be. He stared Dean in the eyes. “Depends on what they say. She’s a fine lady. I’m lucky she bothers to spend time with me. That’s all there is to it.”

  Dean grinned, shaking his head. “I agree on both counts. You either be good to her or prepare to duck when she throws a potato at you.”

  He relaxed. The other man treated women well, too. Bert had been raised on family stories about his sister having no one else but herself to look after her two brothers. Bert respected men who protected women alone in the world. Plus, he could imagine Matilda chucking a potato at him in anger. Could be dangerous, could be a big mess. “Cooked or raw?”

  Dean chuckled, walking backward toward the kitchen. “Does it matter? Either hurts.”

  Bert laughed, following him out of the dining room. “Ducking it is.”

  He hurried out through the back door to the courtyard. Bellhops were unloading luggage from a buggy. They passed by him on their way inside, each m
an gave him sly grins. He’d have straightened all of them out by now if not for Matilda’s confession followed by Dean’s interruption.

  He entered the stable, nodding at Sam before giving Clem a nod, too, as they shoveled hay for the new horses. Since the two had already filled up the food troughs, Bert checked water in the animals’ troughs, refilling each if necessary. Newly arriving customers throughout the afternoon kept them hopping until near sunset.

  The stable hands poured oats into the horses’ feedbags until Bert’s stomach growled, interrupting them. Clem laughed. “Me too. Wonder when our little filly is going to get here with dinner?”

  “Which one?” Sam asked, tossing his empty pail at Clem.

  Asa shrugged, giving his pail to Clem, too. The young man took Bert’s pail, hanging all of them on the nail above a barrel of oats. “At this point, I’d take anyone with a plate of steak mashed potatoes, with pecan pie for dessert.” Asa opened the stable door, closing it behind Sam once they were all in the courtyard. “Or heck, any sort of dessert on a plank of wood will do no matter if who serves it to me.”

  Sam cut his eyes to Bert, asking, “Even Matilda?”

  They expected him to be angry, he figured. He might be, but first, he planned on hearing them out instead of letting his temper rule. He trailed the group across the courtyard. “Careful what you say. We’re talking pecan pie here.”

  “In that case, even her,” Asa replied, opening the kitchen door. He spit out the straw he’d been chewing. “Matilda sure does know how to carry a plate no matter how easy she is.”

  Bert relaxed at the humor, even managed a chuckle. Any impropriety meant he’d have to resist leaving a fist impression in Asa’s jaw. He clapped the other man on the back, instead. “Heck, even Stew looks mighty pretty when we’re this hungry.”

  “Pretty,” The object of their stomachs’ affections said, flipping a scoop of fried onions. “Me?” He was the only one in there, the clean dishes sitting on the counter the surfaces gleaming in the lamplight.

  “The prettiest,” Clem replied. He wandered closer to the stove. “Are those for us?”

  Bert chuckled at the large cook’s grin. The boy ought to know the routine by now. Bert wasn’t surprised by Stew’s laugh.

  “Nope, it’s all mine.” Stew tilted his head. “You know the routine. Cold food’s in the icebox. Don't forget to clean your dirty plates.”

  They gave each other contented expressions before crowding around the icebox. Bert hung back, willing to wait his turn. Eating last didn’t matter to him. Tonight’s work had been fun. He almost didn’t want the day to end, it’d been that good. The crowd cleared with Sam walking away with a full plate. Bert stepped up to the icebox, taking a small dish of peas with a fried chicken drumstick. After grabbing a fork, he headed back outside to the stable with the others.

  Bert sat with them on the tack boxes. Eating kept his mouth busy as the others swapped stories. Even if the boys wanted to hear about his life at sea, he didn’t want to tell them. For most of the shanghaied sailors on the Black Heart the whippings had been brutal, the rations scant. Thus, nothing good could come from him sharing what had happened during his captivity.

  His fingers slipped on the freshly greased fork. Anyone who might have noticed his missing fingertips never mentioned it to him. They all seemed decent, were quick to smile, even Sam, the shyer of the trio. Maybe once the young men learned their matters toward Matilda a little better, he’d like working at Bromley’s hotel.

  Clem stacked his plate on Asa’s with a clatter. “We’re going to the saloon for a drink or two. How about it?”

  He stood “You all go ahead. I’m tuckered out after today.”

  “They’re going. Not me.” Asa ran a hand through his hair. “I’m hoping Sarah will walk with me to the creek.”

  “Then it’s just us two?” Clem tilted his head. “C’mon, Sam. Let’s go before the gambling gets too rowdy.”

  The younger men filed out. Bert almost envied them their energy. He wasn’t as exhausted as he was mentally tired. Matilda had given him a lot to dwell on today, yet the hotel’s guests had given him no time for thinking about her. He stepped outside, checking her window for light. Nothing shone, not even dimly. Figuring she was asleep, he reentered the stable to crawl up the ladder to his room.

  Bert sat on his bed before pulling off his boots. He wiggled his toes. Their freedom felt good. He undid the first few buttons on his shirt until someone’s footsteps echoed across the wooden floor outside of his room. Expecting one of the stable hands, Bert hollered out, “Hello? The girls refused you so soon?” The steps stopped. He waited a few seconds before saying, “Hello, Asa? Clem?”

  His door creaked open. Matilda hurried in, her cheeks an angry pink. She stepped up to him, almost nose to nose with her hands on her hips, hissing, “How dare you tell them what we talked about this afternoon? I trusted you to at least wait until I’d left Bromley’s before gossiping about my past.”

  He stood as her anger influenced his, heating him to boiling. Her scowl didn’t irritate him half as much as her baseless accusation. “What are you talking about? I didn’t say a word about your history to anyone. I wouldn’t even if you left Bromley’s for good.”

  She glared up at him, the setting sun shining in from the small window giving her blonde hair a fiery glow to match her temper. “Oh? I’d love to believe you but heard for myself how Asa would take me because I’m easy.”

  “What?” Bert tried to recall the exact conversation but couldn’t. “I don’t even remember anyone saying such a thing. Even if anyone called you easy, it’s not true. Everyone knows you’re not friendly, no one knows where you came from.”

  “I know what I heard, Bert, I know you’re lying to me.”

  Her calling him a liar shoved his irritation over the top. He took hold of her upper arms. Without thinking, he pushed her back against the wall. The rough wood hit his fingers, first, scratching them but cushioning her. The pain calming him a little, he loosened his grip but still held her firmly. “You see here, young lady, I do not lie to you or anyone else.” Matilda staring at the base of his throat shifted his mood to a bit calmer. The heat of her arms still warming his hands led him to think about anything except being furious with her. “I may not be forthcoming in what’s happened to me in life, but I don’t tell false stories, either.”

  “Let me go,” she said.

  “Not until you apologize for calling me a liar.” He took a step closer to her, their toes touching. “You’re staying right here until you do.”

  “Fine.” She frowned up at him. The sun had dipped below the horizon, the clouds reflected light casting a warm glow over her skin. “You aren’t a liar. I’m not sure how they know about me, but I suspect you might not have been the one to tell them.”

  His hands slid down to her elbows. She was the most beautiful woman, even with doubt, fear, and hurt swimming in her eyes. This close, he could see the few white flecks in her dark blue eyes. Her usual had loosened, letting little tendrils of her dark blond hair escape to frame her face. Encircling her in his arms, never letting go would be too easy. Yet, holding her appealed more than taking his next breath or living his next moment. Bert struggled to ignore the effect she had on him. She needed to know she could trust him. “Matilda, I would never tell anyone something you’d said in confidence. I treasure your belief in me too much to jeopardize such a gift.”

  Her relaxing left her swaying a little toward him. The hard line of her mouth softened. “Careful with such sweet talk, or I might start liking you.”

  Her lips would be so easy to kiss right now, yet, he felt like she was a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. One touch he’d destroy this fragile link between them. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against her forehead, murmuring, “It’s too late for some of us.” He took her hand in his. “Come on. If anyone finds us here, we’ll both be ruined.”

  She laughed as he led her out to the ladder. “You wouldn’t be. You’d b
e a hero who tamed The Shrew.”

  Her words echoed painfully in his heart. Bert hated how she was right. He let go of her hand to lead the way to the ground. “You knew about the name they’d been calling you?”

  Matilda nodded with her hands on her hips. “Oh, I overheard long ago. It hurt at first, but now I don’t mind, much. Better a shrew than a dove any day.” As soon as he hit the ground, she motioned him away from the ladder. “My turn.”

  She made it halfway when the room brightened from lanterns. Bert checked the entrance to see Asa along with the three other kitchen girls in the doorway. The ladies stared with mouths agape before grinning, Asa openly snickered. Bert made sure Matilda was safe on the ground before addressing the four of them. “I thought everyone had plans to be anywhere else but here.”

  Stepping out from among the women, Asa gave the lantern to one of the women. “So did we, but one thing led to another until Stew reminded us to bring back the dishes. We wanted to do so before our evening walks. I didn’t know we’d be interrupting an intimate moment in the stable.”

  Matilda gasped, stepping up to him. “You interrupted nothing.” Almost vibrating with fury, she added, “If I were to have an intimate moment, as you put it, with anyone, it wouldn’t be in a barn or in public. I also wouldn’t be rolling around in the hay with the first handsome man I’d met. It’d be with my husband. Believe me, Mr. DuBoise does not qualify.”

  The girls giggled again. Matilda’s rant gave Bert a backhanded compliment he hadn’t expected. He scratched at the stubble on his chin, trying to keep from smiling. “I don’t know quite how to feel about all that, although the handsome part sounds pretty good.”

  She whirled around to shake her finger at him. “Don’t you dare turn this into a farce when I’m so humiliated by all this.”

  He couldn’t believe how every time she raged at him, he only found her more beautiful. Those flashing eyes coupled with an adorable frown did him in every time. Still, she had a valid point. What should be good for the goose should also be good for the gander. “You’re absolutely right. None of this is a farce.”