Catalina's Caress (14 page)

J
acqueline Barde knew Seth wanted something from her, no, expected something from her, but she didn't know what it was and that frightened her more than anything else ever had. Because, she thought, I am supposed to know what it is.

For this reason she felt helplessly deficient in some way. She wanted to strike out at Seth. She wanted to wipe away the look in his eyes that told her she was lost. As her insecurity grew so did her almost violent resentment of Seth who seemed to be the source of her sleepless nights and miserable days.

It was fate that turned the tide—fate, a small storm, and a slippery deck. Gray clouds had begun to gather on the horizon by the time they sat down to supper. It was a meal enclosed in ice, for Jake was silent and cold as a glacier. The two crewmen ate quickly and left because of the chill atmosphere, but Seth refused to be the first to leave the table, knowing Jake would then think she was having the effect she wanted. As for Jake, she was determined to remain seated until Seth left.

Benjamin was totally engrossed in this amusing and unbelievable situation. Mentally he began to gauge how long it would be before they were at each other's throats.

Knowing Seth's goals he was more than interested in how he was going to go about handling Jake in this mood—or any mood for that matter. He was surprised at the method Seth used.

"Jake?" He used the masculine name she had chosen because he realized there were more important things at stake.

He knew he had taken the right first step when he saw her gloating satisfied look. She thought he had finally given up on trying to thrust another name at her.

"What?" she answered, suspicious as well as satisfied.

"I'm really sorry about what happened—about the Bible. I had no way of knowing you couldn't read."

Jake cast an accusing eye at her grandfather, but she remained still, her pride gathered about her like a shield.

"I don't care. I don't need to read," she said sullenly.

"But, if you'd call a truce I'd teach you to read. As smart as you are, it wouldn't take long."

Seth knew there would never be enough time to teach her before they arrived in New Orleans, but he wanted to catch her interest, stir her desire to learn so his next offer wouldn't alarm her.

"I don't want you to teach me anythin'! I don't need you!" She rose to her feet. "Why do you keep on pokin' into my life?"

"Because," he said calmly, "you need someone to poke into it. What kind of life do you have? The life of a dock rat. One of these days you'll be an old lady. What are you going to do then, Jake ... or have you ever thought about it? In fact have you ever thought about the rest of your life at all?"

A low rumble of thunder penetrated the cabin which dimmed as clouds shadowed the sun. Seth watched Jake's face, and it was hard to remain cool and detached when he saw the panic she was trying desperately to control light her eyes.

She started to speak when a louder crack of thunder sounded, and the boat suddenly lifted as if a large hand gripped and shook it.

The argument was forgotten as all three dashed for the door. Benjamin, who had been closest, reached it first. He yanked it open to be met by a sheet of rain.

The boat was heaving about in the waves caused by one of the sudden squalls that struck without warning in the gulf. It shifted drastically at the moment Benjamin stepped out onto the deck.

Momentarily unbalanced by the sudden change in his footing, Benjamin skidded on the wet deck, fell, and struck his head.

As he lay in a crumpled heap, Jake gave a cry of dismay, then rushed to his side and knelt by him. Seth was right behind her, and when she looked up into his face he was shaken by the mingling of rain and tears on her face. Jake was suddenly a terrified child, watching what she thought was her stability, her hold on life, slipping away.

"Grandpa."

It was a groan of sheerest misery, and Seth's heart was torn by it. Despite the face the girl turned to the world, within she was vulnerable.

Seth ordered the crewmen to carry Benjamin below, and Jake followed close on their heels, clinging to her grandfather.

Below Benjamin was laid gently on his bunk, and Seth firmly took over his care. He bathed the wound on the old man's head before examining it closely. It was a gaping one, but Seth felt it was not fatal.

Jake watched, fascinated, as Seth rummaged through drawers and cupboards until he found thread and needle. She did not turn away when he proceeded to sew the cut closed and then bandage it carefully.

Paying no attention to Jake he covered Benjamin with all the blankets he could find. Having done so, he left Benjamin with Jake and went back on deck.

For over four hours he and the two hands fought the elements and battled to keep the boat float. Only when the storm slowly began to die and the thunder was only an echo in the distance did he return to Benjamin who lay, only half-conscious, with a very silent Jake holding his hand.

Her eyes followed Seth's moves as he made some hot tea, then again went through the cupboards until he found a bottle of whiskey. He filled the cup, half with tea and half with whiskey, and returned to Benjamin's side. Lifting the old man's head gently, he forced some of the liquid between his lips.

Benjamin coughed and then choked on the first sip, but he drank the balance. By the time Seth returned Benjamin's head to the pillow, the injured man's pale cheeks were already beginning to flush with color and his eyes had begun to lose their vague disoriented look.

"You took a nasty fall, Ben," Seth cautioned. Try to lie still. I've done some very ornate stitchery on your head. You'll appreciate it"—Seth laughed—"but not for a while. I think you'll have one grand headache for a couple of days."

"The boat... the storm ..." Benjamin began.

"The boat is fine and the storm is nearly over."

"Thanks boy... thanks," Benjamin said weakly.

Seth smiled and patted his hand, well aware that Jake had not taken her eyes from him, nor had she uttered a word since Benjamin had fallen. Without looking at her, he rose to leave. It was her turn to act. He had made all the overtures he could. The balance of Jake's life rested in her own hands now. He firmly closed the door behind him.

❧

Hours passed without any sign of Jake, but Seth remained on deck. Around midnight he told the two hands to try to get some sleep, and then he just sat on deck, enjoying the amazing serenity of the waters after such a tremendous upheaval The sky was like black velvet, and it was studded with the piercing brilliance of millions of stars.

He sighed deeply. He was tired, but in a strange way exhilarated. He had stood his ground against fear and the elements of nature, and come out a winner. That made him feel as though he had conquered more than just the sea—he now was in command of his own self.

He barely heard the cabin door open, and was not aware of Jake's presence until she stood only a few feet from him.

She was still, but he refused to speak first. He remained silent and waited.

She moved closer when she realized he knew she was there, and dropped to her knees beside him.

"Seth?" she said softly.

"Is your grandpa sleeping all right?"

"Yes ... he's sleepin'... he's fine."

"You ought to be in bed yourself. You must be tired."

He was prepared for immediate rebellion; what he got was a long moment of absolute silence. He could almost feel the struggle within her.

"Seth ... I... I'd like to learn to read, I'd like you to teach me ... if you still want to."

His heart leapt, but with an effort he remained still. He didn't want any sudden move on his part to change her shift in attitude.

Finally he spoke softly. "I'd be more than pleased to help you, Jake ... more than pleased."

"I want to thank you." It was almost a whisper.

"For what?"

"For what you did for grandpa."

"I didn't do anything any other man wouldn't have done. It's the way people are supposed to care for each other. Jake, tomorrow... when we start to learn together... there's something I want to talk to you about. Something important. Will you listen to me?"

She was thoughtful for so long that he began to worry. She was still doing battle with herself.

"Yes," came the muffled and slightly reluctant reply.

"Good. Now why don't you get some sleep. Your grandpa should stay in bed tomorrow so that leaves everything to you and me. You're tired now, and we'll handle tomorrow when it gets here."

She left as soundlessly as she had come. Seth knew it was not going to be easy; they had taken only one tentative step. But at least it was in the right direction. They might still battle each other, but that would be secondary to the battle they would fight together for her future—a battle, he felt for the first time, she might just win.

❧

Charlotte paced the floor nervously. Several hours had passed since Charles had sent her a message which stated that he wanted to see her.

They had returned from the docks together, stunned into silence by their failure to catch Catalina in time to stop her. Charlotte had been prepared to follow on the first boat she could find, but late as it was, none was leaving

Charles, despite his anxiety, had been forced to laugh when Charlotte had become belligerently angry and had tried to buy a boat on the spot.

"Charlotte, it's late!" he had protested.

"What does the time have to do with it?" she had replied. "I will give the captain my letter of credit... for whatever price he chooses. I want to follow that boat. Cat has no idea of the danger she is in."

"And neither do we. Charlotte, I have a much better idea."

"And what is that?"

"That we go home, and tomorrow I will find out not only what we have to know about Marc Copeland, but what his destination might be. We may be able to make more progress that way than by flying off like this. Cat is among many people. I don't believe anything serious can happen to her before we find a way to get to her."

Charlotte eyed him shrewdly, realizing he placed a different meaning on the word serious than she did. However, she reluctantly returned home with him, and when he left he cautioned her to relax and be patient. But patience was not Charlotte's strongest point.

Now, two days later, what little patience she did have was slipping from her. Awaiting Charles's arrival further drained her of it. She clenched her hands. Charlotte hated to wait.

When Charles was shown in, he smiled despite Charlotte's frown of displeasure.

"Two days, Charles. Good heavens, God created the entire world in seven!"

"I never claimed to be anywhere near Godlike," Charles stated. "And I think even He would have had a great deal of trouble finding out about a man who is as determined as this one to keep his past a secret."

"'Keep his past a secret,'" she repeated. "And for just what purpose?"

"His motive is something I cannot discover. What I have found out is his real name."

"Real name? Then he is not Marc Copeland?"

"Oh, he's Marc Copeland all right. If that's as far as you want to go."

"Charles, for heaven's sake," Charlotte said in exasperation, "will you please tell me what you have found out?"

"His name is Marc Copeland Garrison. The Copeland is his mother's maiden name. Obviously he assumed it for the purpose of deception."

"Marc Copeland Garrison," Charlotte said thoughtfully. She narrowed her eyes as if she were searching through misty memories. Then her eyes brightened. "Copeland! Garrison ... By any chance could he be a relative of Pierce Garrison?"

"His son. Did you know Pierce?"

"I knew him a long time ago. The family came from Natchez did they not?"

"Yes. It seems Marc's father... well he ran into some financial difficulties. As of yet I don't know what they were, but they must have been quite serious. He took his own life."

Charlotte's face grew pale. "He committed suicide?" she said in a disbelieving tone of voice.

"That seems to shock you more than it should. Don't you believe it?"

"Pierce Garrison was not the kind of man to take his own life," she declared firmly.

"Maybe not the Pierce Garrison you knew," he replied gently. "Years make a lot of changes in people and things. Maybe they changed him, Charlotte. Maybe he couldn't face these reverses."

"You could be right, Charles," Charlotte said, but she did not believe Pierce Garrison had taken his own life. She had known Pierce Garrison much better than she had admitted. "What else have you found out?"

"Well, Pierce Garrison lost nearly all of his fortune, but his son took what was left and built it up again."

"Shady dealings?"

"No, impeccable ones, for eight years. Then he liquidated everything—for an unbelievable sum of money—and invested a great deal of that in Carrington Shipping."

This took Charlotte completely by surprise. "I don't understand this at all."

"I would say, taking a very rough guess, that Marc Copeland Garrison has something against the Carringtons."

"But why for heaven's sake? As far as I know we have never met him."

"You have never met him, Charlotte. That does not mean Joseph hasn't. As far as I can tell, Joseph and Pierce Garrison did a great deal of business together in Natchez."

"Then why would he want to take the
Belle
from Seth the way he did? To keep her running would surely have brought him more profit?"

"I don't have all the answers, Charlotte. I need more time to get them. There seems to be a lot of dark corners to this situation."

"Then," Charlotte said firmly, "let us shed some light on them. How long do you think it will take to find out what we need to know?"

"Another day or two .. . perhaps three at the most."

"Three days." Charlotte did not look favorably on the delay. "Three days and Cat is on that boat with a man whose motives we suspect."

"Marc Garrison," Charles stated quietly.

"And another man whose motives I don't trust."

"Travis Sherman. But Charlotte I think you are underestimating Catalina. After all she is not alone on a desert island with these two men."

"I suppose you are right. But as soon as you get word—as soon as you get the information we need—I want to go after Cat. She may need our help."

"We'll go after her. Surely, Charlotte, since Travis must be aware that you know who Cat is with, he will see that she doesn't have any difficulties."

"He'll protect her ... from everything but himself."

"And," Charles said softly, "Garrison will protect her from everyone but himself."

They exchanged hopeful looks. "Then," Charlotte said, "let us hope Cat is as clever as we think she is, and is capable of playing the dangerous game of keeping two such men from succeeding in their devious plans."

"Yes, let us hope so. Cat is clever. She'll hold her own, I believe. Maybe even beat them both at their own game."

"I shall pack some clothes, Charles, and be ready to leave here in three days. In the meantime, please find out whatever you can. We will need all the ammunition we can get to be able to fight this man."

"Don't worry, Charlotte. We'll be well armed when we go after them. Well armed, indeed. I shall be back as soon as I can. Good night now, and please try to get some sleep."

"I will. Good night."

Charlotte walked to the door with Charles, and closed it behind him, sliding the bolt into place. She stood with one hand still on the bolt for some time. Then she turned and walked up the steps to her bedroom.

There, she lit a lamp, then carried it to the large chest that sat beneath a window. She knelt in front of the chest and set the lamp on the floor beside her before lifting the lid. The chest was filled with neatly folded clothes, but she reached under them and removed a small wooden casket twelve inches long, eight inches wide, and about ten inches deep.

She sat on the floor, resting her back against the chest and set the box on her lap. When she slowly opened the lid, soft tinkling music filled the silence about her.

She listened to the familiar melody until the music stopped. Then she took from the box a small oval frame that contained the picture of a very handsome man. He was smiling. The picture had lain atop a packet of letters tied with a narrow pink ribbon.

She set these aside, exposing what had lain beneath in the bottom of the casket: a narrow gold ring, a thin silver chain with a tiny cross, an ivory lace fan, and some flowers that were fragile and dry. She took each item from the box carefully, reliving the poignant memories attached to it. Then, slowly, she replaced the mementos.

Taking the packet of letters in hand, Charlotte untied the ribbon, letting it flutter unheeded to the floor. She opened a letter and read it. Then she read the others, one by one.

The tears that touched her cheeks were allowed to fall and drop into her lap like autumn leaves.

When she had read all the letters she sat for some moments in contemplative silence. Then she folded each letter and replaced it in its envelope. Tying the ribbon about them again, she placed the packet upon the other mementos.

She looked at the picture for what she knew would be the last time.

"Oh, Pierce ... no. I will never believe that you took your own life, never. You were strong, and if you had a son you would not have left him like that. No. I don't believe it."

Charlotte sighed as she put the picture away and closed the casket. Then she placed the box in the chest and drew down the lid.

She rose slowly and returned the lamp to the table by her bed so that she might prepare to retire. But she knew that when she slid beneath the covers and extinguished the lamp, it would be difficult to sleep this night.