Gift from the Sea (6 page)

As usual the duchess batted her eyes flirtatiously and laughed. “We shall see how things transpire,” she said. “I might have to leave sooner rather than later. I have some important business to attend to in New York.”

Gabe couldn’t help himself and laughed. “More shopping?”

Jeanne shrugged. “On the other hand, perhaps I could extend my stay if you and Lucie have the room available?”

“You know you are always welcome, Duchess,” Gabe replied, but as he turned away to light his pipe, Maggie saw the frown that creased his forehead. Having Jeanne and her entourage on the premises would complicate things, no matter how they tried to keep her away from the cottage and the German they held prisoner there.

“You are much distracted today,” Stefan said the following morning in a voice made raspy by sleep and near-constant coughing. Maggie rushed around preparing his medications and treatment supplies so Sarah could manage them for the day.

“And you are somewhat improved,” she countered.

“And yet you bother with these details—these matters that Mrs. Chadwick has already seen to.” It was not an accusation. His intent was only curiosity.

“I am simply trying to make sure you have the proper care,” she replied, avoiding his eyes as she had all morning.

“Are you going away?”

She released an exasperated sigh. “I am going into town for some shopping with my—a guest of the inn.”

“The duchess?”

Maggie whirled around to face him. “How do you know of the duchess?”

Stefan shrugged and locked his eyes on hers. “It is a small house. I hear things—and your cook, Mrs. Chadwick, talks to me.”

“About what?”

“Her son mostly. Her husband—and you and your
parents. You are much like family to her.” Maggie turned back to her work, but he continued. “She told me of your father’s good work in the city—how he made retribution for past wrongs in his business, although they were not his to make right. How he rescued her family from certain ruin.”

“My father is a good and kind man. For several days now you have been the benefactor of that kindness.”

His eyes widened. “How many days? How long have I been here?”

“Well, you came to us the night of the twelfth and today is—” he watched as she mentally calculated the date “—the twentieth.” Stefan felt a rush of pure panic. He reached for the covers to throw them aside, and demanded, “I would wish to speak with your father.”

“There is no need to call him here to thank him. You’ll have ample time for that, I’m sure.”

Still weak, in spite of feeling better than he had since being brought here, he sagged back onto the pillows.

“No—yes, I would thank him, but I need to speak with him about an urgent matter.”

“This morning? Now?”

“That would be good.”

“He’s—about what?” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“A business matter.”

Maggie laughed.

“I amuse you?”

“You are hardly in a position to discuss anything, much less business, with my father,” she said.

“Only your father can decide that. Shall I ring for him?” He gestured toward the cowbell that Sarah had left on his bedside table in case he needed her in the night. “Or should
I make the trek through the snow?” He made an effort to sit on the side of the bed and place both feet on the floor. The pain that shot up his legs could not be disguised. He grimaced and bit his lip to keep from crying out.

Maggie was at his side instantly, grasping his arm and easing him back onto the pillows. “Get back in bed. What on earth are you thinking?”

“I must speak with your father,” he hissed through teeth gritted to hold back the cries of pain. “It is most urgent.”

Maggie hesitated. “Very well. I can call the inn and see if he is available.”

“Danke.”

When her father arrived a few minutes later, Maggie crossed her arms and remained at her post near the foot of the bed. “Please,” Stefan said quietly, “may we speak in private?” He glanced over at Maggie and Gabe nodded.

“Maggie? Give us a moment, dear.”

Stefan saw resistance tense every muscle in her body. Surely she would not defy her father.

“Maggie?”

She glanced at her father and seemed about to say something, but then her gaze shifted to Stefan. And in her eyes Stefan saw the same boldness he had seen in a woman’s face only once before. Uma had looked at him with that same defiance. He saw now that Maggie Hunter had stayed because she was protecting her father. It was ludicrous, of course, but she, like Uma, would do whatever it took to safeguard the people she loved. He had the passing thought that such loyalty must surely extend to her community—her country—as did his. Was it possible that this woman, so small and yet so outwardly strong, also possessed the
inner courage that would be required in one who must stand against the masses?

She was watching him now, her eyes fiery as usual. She cast him a look of warning and left the room.

In the time her father spent with the German behind the closed door, Maggie made a fresh pot of tea and cut vegetables for the stew Sarah would serve at noon. Dr. Williams had prescribed a more substantial diet for the man—lamb stew with vegetables, bread, cheese. “Now that he’s apparently out of danger, he needs to rebuild his strength if we’re to get him on his feet again,” Doc had announced that morning. “Maggie, you should try getting him to stand next to the bed starting tomorrow and by the end of the week perhaps a few steps.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Maggie had replied.

She glanced toward the closed door. She had expected her father’s stay to be a short one, but he’d been in there now for well over half an hour.

Finally the knob turned and her father emerged, his expression unreadable.

“Is everything all right?” she asked as she held his overcoat for him.

“What? Yes, fine.” He bent and kissed her cheek. “I’ll send Sarah down so you and the duchess can be on your way.”

But before stepping off the porch, he turned. “Maggie, stop by my study before you leave. I have an errand for you to run as long as you’re going to town, all right?”

Maggie searched his expression to see if there could possibly be any connection between this errand and whatever had transpired with the German. But her father was already headed back toward the inn. She stood for a
moment in the open doorway, trying to find some clue in the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head.

The slightest ring of the cowbell interrupted her thoughts.

“You rang?” she said with just enough sarcasm to let the man know she did not appreciate being summoned in this way.

But he was collapsed back onto the pillows, his face contorted with pain, his cheeks flushed as perspiration dotted his furrowed brow. Maggie’s ingrained sense of compassion overcame every suspicion and doubt. At this moment this was her patient and he was in pain.

“Where is the pain?” she asked, keeping her voice calm.

“Legs,” he managed. “Feet.”

Maggie reached for the bell and rang it with all her strength. “Get me a bucket of snow,” she said when Sean came at a run.

She arranged the covers to expose his calves and feet and eased a rubber sheet under both legs. “Sorry,” she murmured when he stiffened and bit his lip against crying out.

Sean returned with the snow and Sarah. “What can I do?” Sarah asked, shrugging out of her coat, scarf and mittens. “He was doing so well.”

“It’s a good sign. The pain means he’s regaining some feeling. Repeat the massages every fifteen minutes or so for the next hour—longer if the pain doesn’t abate.” Maggie scooped up snow and began massaging Stefan’s feet and ankles. “Perhaps I should stay.”

“No,” Sarah assured her. “I can do this, and it wouldn’t do to disappoint the duchess. She’s talked of nothing else all morning.”

Seeing that the massage was already bringing relief, Maggie found the tube of ointment the doctor had prescribed for his nearly healed fingers. She squeezed some into her palm and spread it over the back of his hand and then down between the fingers and over the palm, then repeated the same on the opposite hand. “Better?” she asked in her generic nurse’s voice when she’d finished.

He closed his fingers around hers, his eyes locked on hers. In that instant she was aware of one thing only—the warmth and strength of his fingers on her skin. Maggie felt a wondrous sense of connection instead of the revulsion she might have imagined at the very idea that this man might touch her intentionally.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Flustered by the sudden assault on her senses, she pulled her hand free. “Not at all,” she said. “Mrs. Chadwick is a natural nurse.” She dunked a small towel into the bucket of melting snow, squeezed the excess moisture from it and placed it on his forehead with the professional efficiency that came with having performed the same task dozens of time. “I leave you in good hands here.”

“Have a lovely afternoon,” Sarah said. “Let the duchess spend her money on you. Goodness knows she has enough of it.”

Maggie smiled the first genuine smile she’d given anyone all day. “Sarah!”

“Well, she does,” Sarah replied defensively.

“Then I shall see if we might bring back something for everyone—even you,” Maggie teased as she put on her coat and wrapped her shawl over her hair and shoulders.

“If it’s a gift-giving mood you’re in, don’t forget our guest here.” Maggie saw Sarah actually wink at Stefan and
was rooted to the spot by the door when his face, so recently contorted in pain, was transformed by his brilliant smile.

In spite of his poor health, his smile radiated strength. If Maggie had passed him on the street, she would have thought him interesting, appealing, someone worth getting to know. She might have instantly identified him as a kindred spirit. She might have smiled back, even greeted him. There had been a time when she might even have flirted with him. His eyes moved from Sarah to her, and his smile wavered.

“Have you forgotten something?” Sarah asked, glancing back at her as she continued to massage Stefan’s feet.

“No. I—” She could not seem to look away from Stefan—nor he from her. Shaking free of his gaze, she reminded herself that this man she had momentarily thought attractive was German. He was the enemy. “No,” she said firmly as she turned away. “I’ll return as soon as possible,” she called.

“Not likely we’ll see her ’til tomorrow,” Maggie heard Sarah confide to Stefan. “The duchess does love to shop.”

M
aggie barely heard Jeanne’s chatter as Frederick drove the three of them in the carriage into town. Jeanne was going on about how much more comfortable it would be if they were riding in the automobile Frederick had left in New York.

“You would love it, Maggie,” she gushed. “On the open road it can be a little like flying. Freddie has promised to teach me to drive this spring. Won’t that be something?”

Maggie hadn’t really been paying attention and hoped that nodding and smiling would suffice. She was still confused by her father’s strange assignment.

“I want you to meet this afternoon’s steamer,” he had instructed as he finished scribbling a note and then sealed it securely in an envelope. “The person you’re looking for will be wearing a blue scarf and carrying an umbrella. He will be part of the crowds but not necessarily a passenger. When you see him, pass by and say, ‘Peace be with you.’ If he replies with, ‘And with you and all your countrymen,’ give him this envelope.”

“But who is this man and what’s in the envelope and why all the mystery and—”

Papa stopped her with a look. “It is business, child.”

In other words, do not question, Maggie thought as she turned the envelope over in her hands. It was slim and could not possibly contain more than a single slip of paper. It was sealed tight. “And after I hand over the envelope?”

“Go about your shopping.”

“What am I supposed to tell Aunt Jeanne?”

Papa frowned. “Tell her you have an errand for me.”

“She’ll want to come along.”

“Then say you want to get something for her—a surprise.”

Maggie’s eyes widened. Her parents had never asked her to lie; in fact, they had punished her more than once for doing just that in order to get out of school on a beautiful spring day or avoid chores when she’d rather be at the shore. “I am to—deceive Aunt Jeanne?”

Her father sighed heavily and reached into his coat pocket for his wallet. He handed her several bills. “No, at least not entirely. Here, choose something for her on your way back from the meeting.”

Maggie accepted the money. “Papa, is this—business—to do with the German?” She cut her eyes toward the window and the cottage beyond.

Her father smiled and came around his desk to enfold her in a hug. “Oh, my little one, always so curious.” He squeezed her tight and then leaned back so he could see her face. “We are in a time of war, Maggie. Will you do as I ask?”

Maggie nodded but did not miss the fact that her father had avoided answering her question.

“I have an errand to run for Papa,” she blurted now as Frederick turned the carriage onto Main Street. He guided the matched team of horses cautiously over the uneven cobblestones, set decades earlier to make it easier to roll
the barrels for storing whale oil to and from the docks. “I won’t be long. Shall I meet you both at the tearoom?”

Jeanne sighed. “Leave it to your father to see the opportunity to inject a bit of business into a pleasure excursion,” she grumbled. “Very well, let’s get it done.”

“No!” Maggie protested so vigorously that both Jeanne and Frederick turned to her. “That is, well, it’s true I need to run a quick errand for Papa once the steamer docks, but I had also thought to have a moment to choose a gift for you,” she admitted, her face flaming with the half lie.

Jeanne squealed with delight and hugged her. “As usual you have solved a little problem of my own—namely, how to distract you so I could purchase
you
a special something to cheer you up a bit. Perhaps from that shop there?” She pointed in the direction of a ladies’ boutique on the street a block from the steamer dock. She waited for Frederick to come round and help her down from the carriage. “Now hurry along and do your father’s bidding. I want you to have plenty of time for choosing my gift,” she teased as she fumbled under the frilly ruffles of the silk scarf that filled the neckline of her fur coat and highlighted her strawberry-blond curls. She consulted the gold watch she wore on a chain. “Shall we meet at the tearoom in an hour?”

Relieved that Jeanne had raised no further questions, Maggie stepped down from the carriage, waved goodbye and headed for the dock at a quick pace. The steamer was just coming into the dock.

So many blue scarves, she thought as gentleman after gentleman came off the steamer. But not one of them with an umbrella. She frowned. Her father had indicated the person might not be a passenger. Maggie glanced around. One man
was wearing a blue plaid scarf but carrying a walking stick, so perhaps she’d gotten the instructions wrong?

She eased toward him, fingering the envelope in her coat pocket as she did. She waited until they were side by side and murmured, “Peace be with you.”

The man glanced down at her, scowled and hurried on without a word. The last of the passengers had disembarked and there were fewer people around. What now? Maggie thought. She studied the passengers waiting to board, but not one of them fit the bill. She glanced at her watch—only thirty-five minutes before she was due to meet Jeanne and she still had to buy some token.

As she hurried toward the shops, it began to snow. She was surprised to see Frederick raising an umbrella over himself and Jeanne. They were strolling slowly along the wharf, their heads bent low in conversation. Jeanne was wearing a blue scarf. Frederick had an umbrella but a white scarf.

Now you’re seeing blue scarves and umbrellas everywhere, Maggie reprimanded herself and ducked into a shop that specialized in nautical antiques. Hastily she selected an ivory scrimshawed comb with rose and hydrangea blossoms for Jeanne.

When she emerged from the shop, the steamer horn blasted the warning for all returning passengers to be on board. A man raced past her, waving an umbrella as if to get the steamer captain’s attention.

“Peace be with you,” she shouted after him.

He slowed and glanced over his shoulder, and her heart raced as she half pulled the envelope from her pocket. Then she saw that he wore no scarf at all. He waved and grinned at her but kept running as Maggie shoved the envelope back into her pocket and crossed the street to the tearoom.

By the time the threesome completed their shopping and returned to the inn, it was nearly time for dinner. When Maggie found the opportunity to return the still-sealed envelope to her father, he was strangely calm about her failure to complete the assignment. When she told him what had happened, he nodded solemnly and murmured, “As I thought.” He seemed more resigned than disappointed as he ripped the envelope in half and fed it to the fire.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” she said again.

“No, I am the one to apologize for cutting into your time for shopping with Jeanne. Did you and the duchess have fun?”

Maggie blushed. “Auntie Jeanne insisted on buying me so many beautiful things. I’ll return them, of course, once she leaves. We’ll donate the money to the war effort.”

Her father studied her for a long moment. “Surely you can keep one or two items. You’ve hardly worn anything other than your uniform since—”

“I am a nurse,” she reminded him, interrupting before he could form the words
Michael died.
“Besides, where would I wear embroidered leather evening gloves?”

Her father’s dark eyebrows shot up, and then he smiled and shook his head in wonder. “That’s our Duchess,” he said. “Was there nothing more practical?”

Maggie pretended to consider, then grinned. “Yes. One item. She bought me a handknit cardigan of alpaca and silk. It seems she recalls that Grandma’s cottage was always drafty, and she thought I should have this to wear when I am there.”

“Alpaca and silk?”

“It cost a fortune when a serviceable wool sweater
would have done as well, but she insisted.” Maggie shrugged. “She bought presents for everyone—even you.”

“Not a scarf, I hope.”

And immediately Maggie was back to the question of why her failure to make contact with the person in the blue scarf was not more upsetting to her father. “Could this person in the blue scarf have gotten the date wrong?” she suggested. “Or perhaps he simply forgot the umbrella part?”

Her father glanced up at her over the top of his reading glasses. “No. The details were very clear,” he said. “Very clear, indeed.” He leaned back in his chair and stared out the window, where the glow of lights from the cottage spilled across the snow. And in that moment Maggie knew that she had been right. Whatever her errand, it had something to do with Stefan Witte.

Stefan was agitated and out of sorts the following morning when Maggie arrived, while she was still caught up in the pleasure of the shopping venture. It was always fun to spend time with Jeanne, and she’d been delighted to find that Frederick was just as witty and lighthearted as the duchess. After dinner the evening before, Jeanne had insisted that Maggie model each purchase for her parents, and the five of them had spent a lovely evening admiring the craftsmanship of the garments and speculating on occasions that Maggie might find to wear them.

For perhaps the first time since Michael’s death, Maggie had hardly given the war a thought. Her failure to complete her father’s assignment aside, she had been captivated by the adventure Jeanne and Frederick had created for her. For the first time in months she had slept soundly and
awakened rested and eager to face the challenge of getting Stefan Witte on his feet and out of their lives.

“Dr. Williams says we are to begin standing and even walking today,” she announced as she threw open the curtains and ignored his growl of protest at the sudden bright light that filled the room. “I have brought you this robe of my father’s and some slippers. Can you manage the robe, or shall I call Sean to help you?”

“I want proper clothes.”

She ignored his protest. “The robe will suffice during your convalescence. I hardly think you’ll be going outside anytime soon. There’s a foot of snow and ice on the ground now and more coming if the skies are any indication.” She gave the robe a slight shake, and he took it from her. “Do not try and get up on your own,” she instructed as he moved to sit on the side of the bed. “Even though your toes and fingers seem to be healing more quickly than we might have expected, this will take time.”

“I must speak with your father,” he announced.

“About using his robe? He won’t mind. He has another.”

“About…” He broke off and clamped his mouth shut. “I thought he would come this morning.”

“He has a business to run and…other responsibilities. Perhaps later. For now the doctor wants you to try sitting up and then—”

“We will walk,” he said in a voice that demanded rather than questioned.

“Yes, eventually, but I would think you might not be so eager to regain full strength and movement.” She studied him curiously.

He glanced at her, his scowl momentarily replaced by a questioning frown.

“Once you are well enough to move around, no doubt we shall be turning you over to the authorities on the mainland.” The look that passed over his haggard features was one of forbearance when she might have expected panic or even rebellion.

“We will walk,” he repeated, thrusting one arm into the sleeve of the robe.

“As you wish,” Maggie answered as she held the other sleeve for him. “But first we will stand.” She was careful to keep him covered as she helped him to the edge of the bed. She had left the door open and could hear the rattle of Sean’s newspaper as he sat in the kitchen just across the hall. “Sit for a minute,” she instructed, taking the opportunity to assess her patient.

The effort of putting on the robe and moving to the position of sitting on the side of the bed had taken its toll. He was breathing heavily. She bent to work his feet into the slippers that were large enough to allow room for the protective bandages, giving him the time he needed to regain his strength. When she stood up, he was watching her, his eyes troubled.

“What is it? Your feet? Cramping?”

He shook his head impatiently. “Why do you wear that?”

Maggie thought for a moment he might be hallucinating. Then she saw that he was looking at her hair, at her starched nurse’s cap. “It’s part of the uniform,” she answered. “As a military man, I should think you would realize that.”

“But here, there is no need. This is not a hospital.”

Maggie stood. “It’s part of the uniform,” she repeated, “and when I am on duty, it is what I wear. Now, shall we try standing?” She moved next to him. “Put your arm around my shoulders.”

It was a mistake to think she could do this alone. It was not his weight or weakness that was the problem. Over her career she had performed a similar exercise with patients who far outweighed Stefan. It was being this close to the man. It was confusing the way her thoughts became tangled around the first sensation of nurturing and then that of aversion. It was the very fact that his arm stretched over her back and shoulders, the flat of one large palm pressed against her sleeve felt somehow as if he were supporting her rather than the other way round.

Shaking off such folly, she placed her arm around his waist. “Ready?”

He nodded and focused all of his attention on the floor, as if willing his feet and legs to do his bidding. Slowly she slid him forward until both feet rested flat on the floor, then wordlessly guided him to a standing position.