She bullied her way back to the front of the line. “Shouldn’t I be on the ferry that’s boarding?”
“No, Miss. I gave you tickets for terminal two. The other one is full. You can board the Tiburon now. You don’t have to wait.”
Isobel narrowed her eyes. “I’m headed to San Francisco, not Sausalito.
“It’s on a different schedule today.”
Jin tugged on Isobel’s blouse. “There are people on board,” the girl said.
The man behind the counter licked his lips, and called, “Next!”
Isobel bristled, but Jin was persistent, grabbing her by the belt and tugging with all her might. “Can we just get on the ferry?” Jin asked.
“I don’t like it,” Isobel said. “He’s hiding something.”
“People are always hiding things,” Jin said.
Children generally had the simplest and truest of insights.
“We’re not getting on that ferry,” Isobel whispered to the child. Instead, she gripped Jin’s hand and headed for terminal one.
“I do not want to go on the crowded one.”
“It’s a trap, Jin.”
Jin yanked her hand free, and bolted for terminal two, running straight for the open-ended aft.
“What the…” Isobel watched as Jin’s cap flew off—her braids flapping behind her as she ran—and disappeared into the cavernous hold. There was nothing for it now. Steeling herself for an attack, Isobel walked towards the waiting ferry, and what was sure to be a trap. She stopped to pick up Jin’s cap, and nodded to a crew member.
“Ma’am,” he said, holding out a hand. She gave him their tickets, and he smiled.
Every nerve in her body screamed of danger. But he appeared genuine, wearing the customary ferryman’s uniform. He was a slim fellow with rough hands from handling heavy moor lines all day. No obvious weapon, except for the common jack knife that every sailor carried. She walked out of sunlight into the dark interior.
The moment she stepped aboard, the sailor unwrapped a moor line and a horn blew. It was deafening. The smokestack billowed, and the wheel began to turn. Isobel tensed, but the sailor ignored her, going about his duties.
Isobel turned to the hold. Generally the open hold would be filled, but it was empty of wagons—a vast space with sunlight streaming from the opposite end. A lone figure stood in that warm light. The man was dressed for death, top hat and all, and had a silver walking stick.
“Riot,” she breathed. Shocked and relieved, and a little irritated, she dropped her bag on deck. The two were drawn together, step by step, in a slow sort of dance. Riot tucked his hat under an arm to bow over her hand. His lips brushed her knuckles. When he straightened, he pulled her hand to his chest, and she looked up into his eyes.
“There is a deck full of disreputable society, family, and one very crotchety old man above us. Along with a retired judge,” he added softly.
Isobel’s voice caught in her throat. “What is this, Riot?” she finally managed.
“This could be a welcome home celebration.” He looked at her with eyes that made her forget she was standing, or even had legs at all. “Or a wedding at sea,” he whispered.
“How did you…” she cut off. “The ticket taker… No, but I left at midnight.” Her head swam. With his presence. With surprise. With the nearness of him. And joy.
Riot wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her near. “I know you, Bel. I know you better than myself.”
“Then you should know my answer.”
“I’d never assume.”
“Jin knew, didn’t she?”
Riot nodded. “We had a wager. She didn’t believe you’d leave the asylum at midnight.”
Isobel snorted. “That explains so much, but… I haven’t a dress.” It seemed a foolish thing after she said it aloud.
“Lotario has taken care of that. He’s waiting for you in the women’s retiring room.”
The world was spinning, and she was thankful for the support of Riot’s strong arm. “I... I feel rather dizzy.”
“Take your time.” His voice was deep and inviting. Isobel rested her cheek against his lapels. Silk and wool filled her senses. His soft beard brushed against her forehead. He smelled of sandalwood and myrrh, and his presence calmed her. The world stopped spinning.
Isobel leaned back slightly. “You’re a hopeless romantic, Riot.”
“Is that a yes?”
“I’m tempted to say no just to keep from being predictable.”
He smiled. A rare one that displayed his two chipped teeth. “But you won’t.”
“Let’s get on with our lives. Together.”
Wild Souls
The engines cut off, and the ferry drifted in the San Francisco Bay. Blue-green waters sparkled under the sun. It was a lazy day—one where the wind hadn’t summoned up energy to sweep through the gate. San Francisco sat on the port, Sausalito and Angel Island to starboard, and the Golden Gate waited off the bow. Gulls and sailing boats dotted the sea and sky, and salt air permeated it all.
Isobel stepped from the women’s retiring room. Marcus Amsel waited outside, and he beamed at his only living daughter. He took her hands, excitement blazing in his warm blue eyes. “I like this wedding better than your last.”
“I do too, father.”
Tears brimmed in his eyes. “Are you ready, my little bird?” he asked in German.
In answer she kissed his cheek.
A violin played, and they walked on deck. Pomegranate boughs bloomed red, and a sea of eyes watched their entrance. Isobel searched the crowd, spotting so many familiar faces that she feared she’d need the lacy handkerchief Lotario had pressed into her hand. Some of her brothers and their families had come: Aubert, Emmett, and Vicilia. And of course Lotario, who stood at the end of the aisle as her Man of Honor. ‘Pretend I’m wearing the most gorgeous silk gown with puffed sleeves and a sleek fit,’ he had whispered to her earlier, as he helped her into a simple white affair. Isobel now did, in her mind, just as he’d wished. And he was gorgeous.
Lotario’s friends, the Fuzzy Bunch, had come to celebrate along with the Falcon’s Bicycle Club. Isobel smiled at Margaret, who was waving from the crowd. Miss Lily and her children were in their Sunday best. Isobel’s Irregulars: Miss Merrily and Mrs. Wright were present. As were Miss Meredith and Mr. Darcy, along with Julius Bright.
On Riot’s side of the deck were his own friends: his agents, including Mack, Mr. Payne and Meekins, and even the reed-thin reporter, Mr. Fry. Miss Cameron was there, and Ling along with her new husband, and Dr. Wise and his family. All assembled for them. It was a motley assortment. Ragtag and rich, scoundrels and saints, standing all mixed up together. All their eyes were on her.
Isobel looked to the bow, where Tim played a violin (he gave her a wink) and Lotario, Sarah, Jin, and Tobias waited. And finally to Atticus James Riot. Calm and confident, he’d stand there for as long as she needed.
Her father stopped, just short of the end, and patted her hand, whispering, “You’ve always known your own mind. I’ll let you walk the rest of the way on your own.” He kissed her on the cheek, and went to stand with his wife. Catarina looked like a stone. She nodded to Isobel, who returned the curt gesture with one of her own.
Isobel stepped over to Riot. The violin cut off, but she barely noticed. Riot turned to face her, and took her hands. When her eyes met his, the rest of the world slipped away.
A rough throat cleared. “We are gathered here today for one purpose: to tie these two wild souls together.” The voice sounded like it had swallowed gravel for breakfast. Isobel tore her eyes from Riot’s and looked at the retired judge. She blinked. A black patch covered his left eye. And when he shifted, Isobel caught a hint of silver beneath the bible in his hand. A hook. She pressed her lips together and glanced at Riot, whose eyes were dancing with the same amusement she felt. It was too much. He had found a pirate to marry them.
“I do!” she said with a laugh, throwing her arms around Riot’s
neck.
“Blast it, woman. We ain’t there yet,” the judge growled.
“I do too,” Riot said.
“Wait, wait, don’t start kissing,” the judge ordered, putting his hook between them. “To love and to hold and all that muck?”
“Forever and always,” Riot said solemnly.
“And into hell itself,” Isobel added.
Her mother huffed. The crowd laughed.
“That’s likely from what I hear about you,” the judge grunted. He turned a sharp eye on the crowd, and placed a revolver on top his bible. “Is there anyone who objects to this union?”
No one dared. Not even in jest.
“No? Good. You have to say your names for the law.”
“I, Isobel Saavedra Amsel take Atticus James Riot to be my partner and husband.”
“And I, Atticus James Riot, take Isobel Saavedra Amsel to be my partner and wife.”
“And we’ll take Jin and Sarah to be our lawful daughters,” Isobel added.
“Agreed,” Riot said, reaching out an arm to encompass the two girls. Sarah began crying, and Jin’s lip started quivering.
“That’s settled,” the judge said. “By the power in… Oh, rings.” He waggled his hook at her.
Tobias White stepped forward, and began patting his pockets. Miss Lily looked heavenward. Then the boy pulled out a ring tied to a string that was connected to a button on his waistcoat. There were some minutes of him trying to untie the ring, until he gave up and yanked the button free. He dropped it into Riot’s waiting palm with a wide grin.
“I didn’t want to lose it,” Tobias whispered.
Riot winked. “Smart lad.”
It was a circle of gold with an intricate wave-like pattern around the band, but far too thick for a normal ring. Before Isobel could study it overly much, Riot took her hand in his, and held the ring poised. “With this ring, I thee wed.” He slipped it on her finger, then passed a gold ring to her for him.
“You still have your hat,” she whispered as she slipped the ring on his finger. The edge of his lip quirked.
“Husband and wife!” the judge announced. “Now kiss her, boy.”
It was a chaste kiss. Riot hadn’t dared do more with Isobel’s parents watching. But she didn’t have such reservations. When he started to draw away, she captured his mouth with her own to cheers and hoots. Then Tim struck up a lively tune.
The next hours passed in a blur of smiles and well-wishing, of good food, and dance that would last until the sun fell to the horizon and set the ocean aflame.
Isobel swirled on the dance floor with an enthusiastic Scotsman, who practically carried her along. The jig died, and Mack roared for another, but Tim struck a slow cord, and Vicilia joined in with his guitar. Riot stepped in, offering a hand, which Isobel gladly accepted.
Riot danced a fine waltz. He led her with a gentle touch and a sure hand as he gazed into her eyes. The deck dropped away, the guests, and even the sea. There was music, and her husband, and nothing more.
“How did you manage this?” she whispered.
“A wedding at sea seemed fitting. I thought you’d like it better than a courthouse.”
“I do,” she said with feeling. “But a ferry?”
“It was Tim’s idea. Well… a remark of his reminded me of a fellow from the seventies: Shanghai Kelly. That Irishman chartered an old paddle steamer and threw a birthday bash for himself. Free liquor and… other attractions. Kelly invited the whole of the Barbary Coast, and when ninety souls were aboard he cast off. The liquor was heavily drugged.”
Isobel glanced at the wine bottles. Her father had donated his wine cellar to the occasion. She doubted it would put much of a dent in his stockpile.
“When the celebrants were passed out, Kelly pulled the steamer right up alongside the Reefer, a notorious hell ship in need of a crew, and unloaded his party for a small fortune.”
Isobel laughed. “Good God, that’s brilliant.”
“I’m sure the shanghaied men didn’t think so when they sobered up.”
“And that made you think of this? So romantic, Riot. But it must have cost a fortune to charter a ferry…”
He tilted his head. “I knew the captain was fond of cards.”
“You wicked man,” she said.
“I never claimed to be a saint.” He twirled her deftly and they danced past Jin, who was dancing with Tobias. From the dread on the boy’s face it wasn’t voluntary. Tobias looked like he had been taken hostage as Jin pulled him around the cabin. Riot reached over and tapped Jin on the shoulder. The girl tried to dance away, but Riot kept pace, and Isobel flowed along with him.
Riot held out his palm. “Pay up.”
Jin huffed at him, and then glared at Isobel. “Only a crazy person would leave at midnight! How could you?”
Isobel clucked her tongue. “You should know better.”
Jin fished in her pocket and slapped a gold coin on Riot’s palm. “I did not think you were actually crazy.”
“Not about that,” Isobel said. “Never wager with a professional gambler, Jin. But really, Riot, you should know better, too.”
“Know what?” he asked innocently.
“Wagering with a ten-year-old child? Your daughter?” She arched a brow at the twenty dollar piece in his palm.
“I suppose you’re right,” he said with a sigh. “You’re in luck, Jin.” He handed the coin back to her, and she beamed. Before Riot changed his mind, Jin abandoned the dance floor, leaving Tobias without a partner.
“Gah,” the boy said. “I thought I was a goner.”
Riot shared a look with Isobel, who smiled in return. He had never planned on keeping Jin’s coin.
Wine and laughter flowed in equal portions. Children darted around the ferry playing a game of catch me if you can, and Isobel only had to pull Jin off the bulwark once when the child decided to put on a balancing act for the other children.
Eventually Isobel slipped from the din of laughter and conversation to stand at the deck’s railing and watch the last rays of a dying sun. She glanced back to the cabin—through the windows to the misfits, the in-betweens, and friends, none of whom fit society’s mold. They warmed her heart.
Someone came up beside her and leaned on the rail. She didn’t need to look to know who it was. She could feel him. And it wasn’t Riot. Her husband was inside dancing a stately waltz with her mother.
“I hope you’re as worried as I am,” Lotario drawled. “Mother is probably cursing him, or giving him advice on how to give her grandchildren.”
Isobel snorted, and turned back to the sea. The ferry was chugging its way towards Richardson’s Bay near Sausalito. “Whatever she’s saying, I’m sure Riot can handle her. Sarah finally let you rest?” Lotario was a popular dance partner with the ladies.
“The reporter, Mr. Fry, saved me. I think he’s besotted with her.”
Isobel frowned. “Sarah’s only twelve.”
“Fry isn’t much older. And don’t forget what you were doing at twelve.”
“Sarah isn’t me. Or you, for that matter.” Isobel turned to look through the window. Cameron Fry was a pale, lanky lad with a shock of blond hair, a perpetual sunburn, and a voice that tended to crack.
“If he’s doing what I was doing at his age, then you definitely don’t have to worry about your daughter.”
Isobel placed the reporter between fourteen and sixteen. “He better just be after a story,” she said. “Why on earth is he here?”
“An exclusive on the wedding in exchange for our approval of the article.”
Fry would make a tidy sum.
Isobel gave a dismissive gesture. “That means nothing. His editor has the final say.”
“His editor kept his promise when Fry interviewed Sarah.”
“There is that.” She turned away, confident Riot would keep an eye on the young man. “How was the Narcissist?”
“I didn’t go there,” Lotario said.
“You didn’t?”
“I see Atticus didn’t tell you.” Lotario sounded pleased.
“No, he didn’t. He was stubborn about it.” Isobel looked her twin up and down, narrowing her eyes. He appeared healthy, if a little drunk. And he wore gloves. “What are you hiding under those gloves?”
“Probably the same as you.”
Isobel started to reach for his hands, but he shooed her back. “You’ll find out soon enough. Stop spoiling your own surprise.”
“I hate surprises.”
“That’s only because you don’t like to admit that your powers of observation aren’t up to par.”
“With as much wine as I’ve had… they definitely aren’t up to par.”
Lotario chuckled. “I think my friends are trying to drink father dry.”
“Impossible,” she said.
Lotario moved closer, putting an arm through hers, and resting his cheek on her shoulder. “What will I do now that you’re settled with a man I actually approve of?” It was a flippant question, one he didn’t really mean, but an idea sparked in her mind.
“Come live at Ravenwood Manor with us,” she blurted out.
Lotario straightened. “One of your daughters is being put in an attic. There’s no room for me. You know how I like my space.”
“You can move into a room when there’s a vacancy.”
Lotario took her hands. “Bel, I need my own life.”
“The offer stands, regardless.”
“Thank you,” he said, and meant it.
“At least come for dinner regularly.”
“I will,” he promised. “What are your plans?”
“My immediate plans?”
He waggled his brows. “We all know what that will be.”
Tobias shot past them on deck. He was trailed by one of Dr. Wise’s sons, and then a girl (one of Isobel’s nieces), followed by Jin, hot on their heels. Jin looked about to tackle the girl. Good thing she was Emmett’s daughter. His children (and wife) were as sturdy as he.
“Honestly,” Isobel said when the bang of footsteps faded, “I haven’t thought beyond tonight.”
Lotario smiled like a cat. “That’s the answer I was hoping for.”
Uncharted Waters (Ravenwood Mysteries #6) Page 8