Love Inspired Historical November 2014 (25 page)

And he certainly didn't look the part of a gentleman ready to escort a lady home. His fur coat was patched together in places, his boots were scuffed and dirty, and all he carried with him were a few days of clothing and toiletries stuffed in his satchel. His own mother had refused to allow him in her parlor. Allegra would be mad to accept his help.

Or desperate. As her breath came in short bursts like the puffs of a steam engine, he could almost feel her determination. He couldn't understand what had driven her out of the city of her birth. Surely returning to Boston was preferable to traveling thousands of miles away to a place she was ill suited to live. Why was she so set on leaving home?

“Excuse me.” Clay turned to find a pretty blonde in a tailored brown coat behind him along with a narrow-eyed woman in a cloak nearly as red as her hair. Around them ranged several other women, all with heads high and fingers clutching their reticules as if they meant to use the little cloth bags to effect.

The blonde's smile was tight under her trim brown hat. “The tide turns within the hour, sir,” she informed him, patrician nose in the air as if even the scent of his soap offended her. “We have a great deal to do before then. You have no right to detain our friend.” She flapped her gloved fingers at him as if shooing a chicken. “Be gone.”

The other women nodded fervently.

Clay inclined his head. “I'm not here for trouble, ladies. I have only Mrs. Howard's best interests in mind, I assure you.”

“Sure'n, isn't that what they all say?” The lady with the red curls clustered about her oval face had a voice laced with the lilt of Ireland. She looked him up and down. “Go on, now. A big strapping lad like you can't be so lacking for female companionship he needs to snatch his women off the pier. Have some respect for yourself.”

For once in his life, Clay had no idea how to respond. As if she knew it, Allegra smothered a laugh. Even her daughter was regarding him quizzically.

“Truly, sir,” the blonde scolded him, “it's the Christian thing to do.”

“It's all right, ladies,” Allegra said. “Mr. Howard was just saying farewell.”

Now besides the humor, he could hear triumph in her voice. She thought her posse of vigilante females would frighten him off. She expected him to wish these ladies well, to allow her and Frank's daughter to board this vessel and sail off to places that would endanger their values, their faith and their very lives.

Normally, he'd be the last to dissuade anyone from pursuing a dream. He knew the heady feeling of charting his own course, making his own way. Yet he also knew what lay waiting for these women in the wilderness.

Father, how can I compromise my own beliefs and let them go?

He couldn't. Allegra's determination must have been contagious, for he felt his shoulders straightening with purpose.

“Give me five minutes, Allegra,” he said. “If I can't persuade you to return to Boston, I won't stop you from boarding the ship.”

She held her ground, one hand on Gillian, the other grafted to the rope edging the gangway.

“Mrs. Banks, er, Howard?” the purser put in, pausing to clear his throat as if as unsure of his reception as he was of her true name. “If you intend to speak to Mr. Howard, I must ask you to step away so I can continue the boarding process.”

The blonde came to Allegra's side, chin up and pale blue eyes narrowed with purpose. “If you want to go, Mrs. Banks, I'll watch over Gillian.” She glanced at Clay as if she didn't trust him. “But if you wish to board, I wouldn't give this fellow another moment of your time.”

He couldn't chide her spirit or her practicality. Allegra hadn't seen him in years. She had no way of knowing the man he had become. He tried to smile. She didn't look any more certain of him.

In fact, he could almost see the thoughts behind those deep blue eyes, weighing her options, determining his worth. He'd seen the look before, the calculation of a Boston socialite over whether a person warranted the pleasure of her company. He'd thought he was beyond caring about the conclusion of such an assessment. Once, that conclusion would have immediately been in his favor as a Howard. Now his family couldn't be bothered to receive him. Still, he was surprised by the wave of relief that coursed through him when Allegra transferred her daughter's hand to her friend's.

“Go with Ms. Stanway, Gillian,” Allegra said with a sidelong look to him. “I can allow five minutes for your uncle, but no more.”

Chapter Two

F
ive minutes should have been more than enough time to make her refusal to whatever Clay had to say. She couldn't imagine any circumstance that would change her mind about her plans. If she remained in plain view of the ship, he could do nothing to prevent her from leaving. She'd seen Mr. Debro look at the sailors. She knew she could count on help if needed.

But Gillian wasn't content to let her go. She must have slipped her hand from Catherine's, for she darted to Allie's side. “Can I come, too, please? He looks like Papa.”

The longing in her voice tugged at Allie's heart. Gillian had been all of two when her father had left for war. Allie had read her all the letters he'd sent, especially the stories he wrote just for her. Gillian couldn't understand the finality of death, the fact that her father would never return.

But to see Frank in Clay? Allie looked him over more closely. Perhaps the color of his hair was similar, but his had always been straighter than Frank's, his eyes more pale and piercing, his body taller and stronger. They had been so different, in temperament, in ambitions. Clay had never obeyed his parents with unquestioning devotion like her husband. Frank had been smooth, polished, proper. Clay had been defiant, commanding, but now everything about him was rough, from the stubble on his proud chin to the dust on his worn knee-high boots. She couldn't see Frank in him.

But at Gillian's statement, he pushed back his hat. “Clever of you, little miss, to notice,” he said with a bow. “I'm your father's brother. And I'm here to bring you home.”

Gillian's eyes widened. Allie sucked in a breath and stepped between them. How dare he try to use her daughter against her!

“Gillian's home is with me, sir,” she informed him. “And I am heading for Seattle.” She gave Gillian a hug before patting her back and pushing her toward Catherine. Catherine took the little girl's hand and turned to give her own name to the purser.

“I'm not trying to usurp your place,” Clay said quietly as he straightened and the other women returned to their places in line. “I thought Frank's daughter deserved to know her family.”

Guilt whispered; she could not afford to listen. She knew that by taking Gillian to Seattle, she was cutting off everyone the little girl had ever known. But Clay had been away for so long. He couldn't understand how his family had tried to control Allie, to control Gillian. He knew she'd refused to leave Boston once. How could he realize how important this trip was to her now?

“You are wasting your five minutes, sir,” she said. “I believe you only have three left.”

His mouth compressed in a tight line. He glanced about, then led her through the crowds and a little apart from the gangway to the shelter of a stack of crates awaiting loading. Allie could see Catherine taking Gillian aboard the ship. Some of the tension seemed to be going with them. Whatever happened now, at least her daughter was safe.

She turned to find Clay eyeing her. “Why are you here, Allegra?” he asked.

Though his tone was more perplexed than demanding, she felt her spine stiffening. “I would think that obvious. We're going with Mr. Mercer to Seattle.”

“And you think that's your best choice for a future?” he asked with a frown. “What about Boston? Your place in society?”

Her place in society? Well, she'd once considered it precious, and he had cause to remember. She was the one who didn't like remembering. She'd been so sure then of what she'd wanted. She'd been taught to manipulate to achieve her goals, yet she hadn't realized how easily she'd been manipulated until it was almost too late.

She puffed out a sigh of vexation that hung in the chill air between them. “You honestly think I should be content to stay in Boston? And this from the man who ran away to join the Wild West show!”

A smile hitched up, and it somehow seemed as if the gray day brightened. “I wanted to see the Wild West, not play cowboy in a show,” he replied. “And from what I've seen, the Northwest territories are no place for a woman.”

“Which is precisely why women are needed,” Allie argued. “You can't tell me Seattle won't be improved by teachers, nurses, seamstresses and choir leaders.”

He chuckled. “That statement merely shows what little you know of Seattle. There are few children to teach, a single struggling hospital for the nurses, no call for fancy clothes for the seamstresses.”

Allie's eyes narrowed. His description hardly matched the information Mr. Mercer had given them. How could Clay know so much about Seattle? If her in-laws had ever received letters from him, they hadn't shared the news with her. And Frank, of course, rarely spoke of Clay. He thought the entire matter too painful for her.

“So you've seen Seattle,” she said, watching him.

His gaze met hers. Up close, the changes of time were obvious: the fine lines beside his eyes, the tension in his broad shoulders, the way his smile turned from pleased to grim.

“I've been there,” he said so carefully she could only wonder if he'd robbed the bank. But perhaps they didn't have a bank, either!

“Then you must know why we're needed,” Allie told him.

“Besides being someone's wife?” he asked, rubbing a hand along his square jaw. “No. Seattle is a scattering of houses in a clearing, five hundred people, give or take. And the outlying settlements are worse. I heard most of these ladies going with Mercer are orphans. They've nowhere else to turn. You have a family, a home, opportunity for a future. I can't see you as one of Mercer's belles.”

At least he hadn't used one of the unkind names she'd seen in the newspapers. Cargo of Heifers. Petticoat Brigade. Sewing Machines. The editor of one of the local papers had expressed extreme doubt that any girl going to seek a husband was worthy to be a decent man's wife. What, did the rest of the country expect every woman who'd lost a sweetheart, a husband in that horrible war to simply stop living? That they couldn't find employment instead of decorating a man's home?

Anger bubbled up inside her. “I have no intention of seeking a husband in Seattle. And may I remind you that you had a home and opportunities once, too. That didn't stop you from leaving.”

His jaw tightened. “I knew what I wanted and what I was leaving behind. I doubt you do.”

Didn't she? How many nights had she lain in her canopied bed, warm, safe, suffocating? How many times had she prayed for wisdom, for guidance? Her prayers had been answered with a dream, a future for her and Gillian that didn't include marrying someone the Howards picked out. When Allie had seen the advertisement in the paper for teachers and other workers in far-off Washington Territory, she'd known it was the pointing of God's finger. She'd been the one to close the door on adventure once. Now He'd opened it, and she intended to follow His lead.

“Save your doubts, Mr. Howard,” she said. “Save your breath, as well. You gave up the right to order me about years ago.”

Clay's brows went up, and he took a step back to stare at her. Allegra Evangeline Banks Howard would never have spoken to a gentleman that way, particularly not her husband's brother.

“You've changed,” he said.

“How perceptive of you to notice,” she replied. “Did you think I had no more to worry about than which dress to wear? Motherhood, and widowhood, mature a woman in a dozen ways. And this trip will do more.”

He sighed and dropped his gaze to the wooden pier, where his boots scuffed at an iron nail. “I can see you're certain, but I can't let you get on that ship, Allegra. You have no idea how to survive in the wilderness.”

She knew he was right. Who was she to take on such a challenge, to brave the unknown? But her will rose up even as her head came up.

“Clayton Howard,” she said, breath as sharp as her words, “if you can learn, so can I. Now, you have had your five minutes, sir. Nothing you've said has dissuaded me from leaving. Thank you for coming. Good day.”

Before she could push past him, he held up his hands as if in surrender. His words, however, were far from capitulating. “I can't demand that you come with me, Allegra, though I've no doubt my mother expected me to do so. She's ready to welcome you back to the family. Isn't that better than heading off to the wilderness alone?”

So he was willing to admit that he was here on his mother's behest. She couldn't help the frustration building inside her. Was she never to be free?

“I think it's time Gillian and I made our own family,” she informed him. “And you can tell that to your exalted mother. And as for the other member of your family, your cousin Gerald, you can tell him that I wouldn't marry him if he was the last man on earth, and sending bullies after me isn't going to persuade me otherwise!”

He cocked his head. “Gerald has been pressuring you?”

That's what he heard? Not that she was her own person, capable of making her own decisions. Not that she considered him nothing but a bully to chase after them this way. No, he had to fixate on the rival, the cousin who seemed intent on inheriting the considerable estate that would have been Clay's if his father hadn't disowned him when Clay headed west.

“Every day,” Allie told him. “In every possible way. He's become extremely tiresome.” It was the most polite way to put it. At times, Gerald had looked at her with a glint in his eyes that made her feel as if she had suddenly fallen through the ice on the pond below the house. It was as if he coveted her, as if she were a possession. And Clay's mother had encouraged him. She shuddered just remembering.

Clay must have seen her movement, for he took her arm. “Allow me to escort you back to the hotel,” he said. “We can talk further where it's warmer.”

Behind her, the
Continental
blew its horn, the blast piercing the cold air. She would not let the ship leave without her. Her bags were already aboard. And she would never abandon Gillian.

She pulled her arm from Clay's. “Your hearing must have been affected by your travels, sir. I am boarding this ship. If you insist on conversing further, you'll have to board it with me.” She turned for the ship, keeping her head high, her steps measured. She wouldn't look back, not to Boston, and not to Clay.

For all she had once wished otherwise.

* * *

Clay stared at Allegra as she headed for the gangway. She walked gracefully, as if on her way to a ball. She had no idea she was heading into trouble instead.

What am I to do with her, Lord?

The prayer held more exasperation than appeal. He'd ridden, by hired horse and stagecoach, from the Northwest territories to Boston in the last month, hoping to reunite with family after news of Frank's death a year ago had reached him, courtesy of an old family friend. Though Frank was beyond Clay's help, he had considered it his duty to ensure his brother's widow was well provided for. But he'd met failure on all sides. The one task where he'd thought he could still succeed was to convince Allegra to return to Boston where she would be safe. Now even that seemed to be denied him.

But he'd never been one to give up without a fight.

His purpose, as he saw it, was to protect Frank's wife and child. He'd never be a family man like Frank, steady, reliable, but he could at least make sure Allegra and Gillian had a solid future. If they refused to return to Boston where they belonged, then he had only one way to accomplish his goal. He had to return west in any event.

I know it may be crazy, Lord, but surely this is what You'd want me to do.

He shoved his hat down on his head a little farther and waited in the shadow of the crates as the last of the women filed up the gangway. The purser glanced through his notes with a frown, as if he thought he must be missing someone. Then he shrugged and climbed aboard, as well. As soon as the way was clear, Clay strolled up the gangway and onto the ship.

No one stopped him, ordered him to produce his ticket. With his satchel in his hand, he probably looked like a typical passenger, even if he wasn't one of Mercer's maidens. As it was, the crew and officers were far too busy preparing to sail to pay him any mind.

And the crowds were even denser on the deck than they had been on the pier. He was surprised to see several families aboard, older husbands with wives and children in tow, brothers escorting what were clearly sisters by the similarity of their features. People milled about, looks ranging from excitement to terror. At least some of them knew what they were leaving behind. Going from one coast to the other happened once in a lifetime for most people.

Clay moved among them, keeping an eye out for Allie and Gillian. Even with all the passengers on deck, it shouldn't have been that hard to find them. As far as he could see, the entire ship was about as long as the Howard mansion in Boston but only half as wide.

The main deck circled the ship, with an upper deck above one of the blocky buildings. Though the black funnel sticking up in the center of the deck sputtered a cloud from the steam engine, two masts rose higher into the air. It seemed the
Continental
could sail under wind power, as well. The three buildings along the deck would house the wheel, the captain's quarters and the officers' mess, and the first-class accommodations, Clay guessed. The stairs running down beside them would likely take the passengers belowdecks, where they'd find another salon and staterooms for the ordinary passengers.

And there, just about where the first mast towered over the deck, Allegra stood with some of the other women, faces set resolutely toward the mouth of the North River.

Just then, the horn bellowed, and little Gillian cried out, arms reaching for her mother. Allegra gathered her close, bent her head as if to murmur reassurances. Something hot pressed against Clay's eyes.

That little girl has lost so much, Father. I didn't have a say in the matter, but now that I know about her, I can't see her hurt further.