Love Inspired Historical November 2014 (28 page)

“Don't you find that just a bit overweening?” Allie asked with a grimace.

“Oh, to be sure. But a man will be a man, so they will. And as men go, he's a charming one. What other gent would set his own plans aside to further yours?”

Allie stared at her. She'd been so busy arguing for her right to take this trip that she hadn't considered why Clay was taking it. He must have had plans for the next three months, and Boston could not have been part of them. She knew what little fondness he carried for his former home. Yet he'd said his mother had sent him to find Allie, so he must have been to Boston. He couldn't have reached the ship in time any other way. Why was he willing to come with them now?

She did not have a chance to ask him until the next day. After she and Maddie finished setting up their stateroom, they joined Mr. Debro for a tour of the ship. They started on the lower deck, which was completely enclosed in hickory, the passageways lit by the golden glow of lanterns along the way. The deep thrum of the steam engine vibrated the floor and made her feel as if she'd wandered into a cozy hive.

“But you mustn't enter the engine room, ladies,” the purser warned as they paused before the open door. “The crew works hard to keep the boilers burning, day and night. They have no time for pleasantries.”

Allie was more interested in the activities aboard ship, for she was fairly certain keeping up their small room would not require all their time. She was pleased to find that the lower salon had games like checkers and ninepin, and the upper salon had a piano just waiting unpacking.

The upper deck was exposed to the elements. Already a cold breeze whipped about the buildings along the planking. But Allie knew once they reached warmer weather she and her daughter could promenade there.

“The wheelhouse is in the stern,” Mr. Debro explained, pointing as he talked. “And the officers' quarters are in the bow. You will have no need to visit either.”

“Is that an explanation or a warning?” Maddie whispered to Allie, twinkle in her brown eyes.

“But the officers will dine with us, won't they?” another woman asked, and Allie could see many countenances turned hopefully to the purser's.

Mr. Debro reddened. “That is up to the captain, madam. But I believe, as he has his family with him this trip, he intends to dine in the upper salon.”

Maddie looked at Allie as if to say
I told you so
. She was equally amused when Mr. Debro pointed out the larger cabins in the central building on the upper deck. The beds were bigger, the upholstery finer, the space brighter from the latticed windows overlooking the sea.

“These may appear more elegant,” Allie whispered to Maddie, “but they are likely colder on a winter's night than our room.”

Maddie nodded as if that were fair enough.

Above the rooms on the upper deck was another space railed in iron chain, a longboat lashed to each corner.

“This is the hurricane deck,” Mr. Debro told them, one hand to his head to keep his hat in place. “As you will notice, it's most often windy here, but it is a fine place to take your constitutional in the morning.”

They climbed down the narrow stairs in time to see Clay exiting one of the upper-deck staterooms. He tugged off his hat and inclined his head to the ladies, several of whom giggled behind their hands as if they'd never seen a gentleman before. He went so far as to wink at Gillian, who turned her head to watch him as they passed. Allie kept her own head high.

“I'll see you at dinner tonight, Mrs. Howard,” he called after her.

“Someone's made a conquest,” one girl said with a laugh.

Allie ignored her. In fact, she did her best to discourage any conversation with Clay when they gathered for dinner that evening and he sat himself nearby. She set Gillian between them at the table, then directed her attention to Catherine and Maddie on her left. She slid the platter of salted beef to him along the table to avoid any chance their hands or gazes might meet. And she answered any questions put to her as shortly as possible.

“You're working far too hard,” Catherine told her after dinner had ended and the three women and Gillian were clustered around one of the small tables along the wall. “Simply ignore the fellow. He seems clever enough to understand your intent.”

“Oh, to be sure,” Maddie agreed with a glance at Clay, who was leaning against the opposite wall. “And if you're certain you're uninterested, you won't mind if I should cast my net in his direction.”

“Madeleine,” Catherine scolded, “if Allegra has determined the gentleman to be lacking, we would be wise to look elsewhere.”

Allie bit her lip to hold back hasty words. In truth, she'd once admired Clay, although she knew some in Boston had been shocked by his behavior—racing his horse against his friends', spending his money on wild schemes and strange inventions. And he criticized her for following Asa Mercer!

Still, no matter her opinion, she could not fault Clay's behavior that night. The passengers had been divided between the upper salon and the lower, and it seemed that Maddie was right, because finances and connections clearly played a part as to which person went where. Most of the people in the lower salon with her and Maddie were common folk, clothes presentable but worn, and the common language made Catherine raise a brow from time to time at the mismatched verbs and colorful adjectives. Catherine and Clay had been given spots in the upper salon, but both had come downstairs to dine.

Though Clay didn't go out of his way to introduce himself to any of the other passengers, he always spoke politely to anyone who approached him, Allie noticed. He had helped one of the older widows to dinner when she couldn't manage the hard wood chairs. He swapped stories in the corner with a group of older gentlemen after dinner, casting no more than a glance and a smile at a passing lady. She couldn't tell if he had truly changed since the days she'd known him, or whether he was merely putting on a good show for the other passengers.

“Good night, Mrs. Howard, Ms. Gillian,” he said when she started for her stateroom with Gillian in hand. “Sweet dreams.”

Her cheeks warmed, but she managed a nod and kept walking.

Their first night aboard ship was bitterly cold, and she was thankful for their inside stateroom, where heat from the lower salon seeped around the door. The warmth of Gillian's body pressed against hers on the little berth helped, as well. But even as she lay cuddled beside her daughter, Clay once more intruded on her thoughts.

Was he freezing in an outer berth where the wind whistled through the latticed windows? Was his only covering that pieced-together fur coat? How would he even be able to fold his length onto the narrow berth? She finally found sleep by assuring herself she would do her Christian duty and check on him in the morning.

Having left Maddie dressing Gillian, Allie found him on the upper deck, where many of the women were enjoying a moment in the rare January sunshine. Like her, they were bundled in coats or cloaks that reached past their hips, full skirts swinging as they walked. The
Continental
was out into the Atlantic, Allie knew, and steaming south. She looked for the familiar sight of the coastline and found only the rolling blue-gray waves. How amazing, when all her life she'd seen no farther than the islands dotting Boston Harbor.

Clay might also have been admiring the view. He was wearing his heavy fur coat, his hands deep in the pockets, his breath making puffs of the cool air as he spoke. Three female passengers were clustered around him, all chattering and flashing smiles, their faces turned up to his like flowers before the light. Allie stiffened, then immediately chided herself. She had no claim over Clay. If another woman thought she could tame him, Allie only wished her luck.

He looked up just then, and their gazes met. The smile that brightened his face made her stomach flutter. How silly! She wasn't a debutante meeting the mighty Clay Howard for the first time. She squared her shoulders and marched toward him.

He met her halfway. “Good morning, Allegra,” he said with a nod of welcome. “How did you and Gillian fare your first night aboard?”

One of the older women nearby cast them a look with raised brows. She couldn't know their past history and family connections gave him the right to use her first name.

“Tolerably well, Mr. Howard,” Allie said, making sure to use his last name. She took his arm and drew him a little farther away from the others toward the deck chairs that rested along the wall of the first-class quarters. “And you? Ms. O'Rourke wondered whether you had all you needed.”

She couldn't confess that she'd wondered, too, but he didn't question her. Instead, his smile deepened, showing a dimple along the right side of his mouth. “Give her my thanks, but tell her not to worry. I'm set up fairly well. I'm bunking with Mr. Conant, a reporter from the
Times,
and he was kind enough to offer me the lower bunk so I can stick out my feet. And Ms. Stevens and the widow Hennessy provided me with sheets and blankets when they heard I had none.”

She should be relieved that he had been so well supported. Yet some part of her was disappointed she hadn't been the one to make sure he was comfortable.

“Well, then,” she said, removing her hand from his arm. “It seems you have no further need of us. Answer me one question, if you will, and I'll leave you to your promenade.”

He cocked his head. The breeze pulled free a strand of red-gold hair, and she had to fight the impulse to smooth it back from his face. “And what question would that be?” he asked with a smile, as if confident of his ability to answer it.

“Why did you join us on this trip? You can't have been planning on spending three or more months at sea.”

“No, indeed,” he said with a chuckle. “But make no mistake, Allegra. I joined the company of the
Continental
because of you.”

There went her stomach fluttering again. “Because of me, sir?” Her question sounded breathless, and she cleared her throat.

“You and Gillian,” he clarified. “It's a long way with more dangers than you can know. Someone has to protect you.”

Oh, but he was impossible! “Did it never dawn on you, sir, that I might be able to protect myself?”

His shrug did nothing to stem the rise of her frustration.

She stepped back from him. “I will have you know that I'm fairly self-sufficient. Should you need
our
help on this trip, you can find Gillian and me in stateroom thirty-five, on the port side of the lower salon. We'd be more than glad to protect
you
.”

Chapter Five

C
lay watched as Allegra turned and swept away. Even bundled in her wool cloak, there was something defiant in the height of her head, the set of her dainty boot against the deck. She was so very determined to do this on her own.

He couldn't blame her. He'd felt the same way when he'd left Boston. He couldn't wait to put distance between him and everything connected with the name of Howard—arrogance and greed and overbearing authority. What he had now, little as it might seem to her, he'd earned with the brains and brawn the good Lord had given him. He wasn't about to change that, for anyone.

“Now, there's a fine-looking woman.” A gentleman strolled up to Clay, the golden lion's head on the handle of his ebony walking stick glinting in the sunlight. He offered his gloved hand. “Josiah Reynolds. I understand you're a Howard.”

Clay didn't accept the man's hand. “How can I help you?”

Reynolds lowered his arm. In his gray sack coat hanging loose about his shoulders, he looked short and sturdy, and only the bristling brown mustache over his thick lips prevented him from resembling a bulldog.

“No help required but the honor of your company,” he assured Clay, pulling his coat closer against the icy breeze that puffed off the ocean. “The way I figure it, those of us who are bachelors must band together if we're to survive this trip unshackled.”

Clay grinned at his joke. “I thought all the ladies were set on finding a husband in Seattle, not aboard ship.”

Reynolds smiled. “I hope you're right. My home is in San Francisco. I may yet escape the noose.” He glanced at a passing lady who had prominent front teeth and shuddered.

“If you ask me,” Clay said with a shake of his head, “you could do worse than to marry one of these women. They have more gumption than half the men I know. It isn't easy leaving everything and everyone behind.”

“True enough,” he agreed, giving his walking stick a thoughtful twirl. “But any lady who has to cross a continent to find a husband must have something wrong with her.”

Clay scowled at him, and the fellow excused himself to find other company. Clay shook his head again, this time at his own attitude. Only yesterday, he had been equally certain that only the desperate would take advantage of Mercer's offer. But the ladies he'd met so far challenged that theory.

Allegra's friend Ms. Stanway was as fearless as she was fetching. Ms. Stevens, who had offered him the blanket last night, was as sweet-tempered as she was sweet-faced. Any number of these women could have found beaux even in the war-ravaged East. Why take a chance on Seattle?

“And a pleasant morning to you, Mr. Howard,” Ms. O'Rourke said as she sashayed up to him. The breeze had turned her cheeks a pleasing pink, and her brown eyes sparkled as she grinned at him, arms buried in the sleeves of her rust-colored wool cloak. “Still unengaged? Such a slacker, you are.”

She must have overhead his conversation with Reynolds. Clay chuckled. “I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding a gentleman to propose, if that's what you're after.”

She leaned against the railing. “And isn't that what every lass is after? A nice rich lad of good family who's kind on the eyes.”

Clay's surprise must have been showing, for she laughed and said, “What—don't all you gents pine for something similar? A pretty girl who will cook and bake and clean for you?” She fluttered her cinnamon-colored lashes. “Some of us have better ways to spend our time.” She pushed off the railing and all but skipped down the deck.

“You'll find Ms. O'Rourke quite outspoken,” Ms. Stanway said in her wake. She offered Clay a smile that did not seem to warm her blue eyes, which were a few shades lighter than Allegra's. “But she is correct. Not all of us are hoping to marry when we reach Seattle.” She nodded to two of the women who were standing farther along the railing, gazes out to sea. “The Prescott sisters worked in the cotton mills in Lowell. Those were shuttered during the war and don't look to be opening soon.”

“So they're seeking employment,” Clay surmised. “And what about you, Ms. Stanway? Why are you going so far from home?”

That smile remained frozen on her face. “I lost my brother and father to the war, sir. There is no home to return to. Excuse me.”

She continued past, head high, carriage serene. The ocean breeze no more than ruffled the feather on her hat. He had a feeling if she had debuted in Boston they would have dubbed her the Ice Princess. But then, they wouldn't know the story of her losses.

He'd thought he knew Allegra's story. She'd been born into a well-respected though slightly less affluent family than his. She'd risen to the top of Boston social circles. She'd married Frank; they'd had a child together. But though she'd lost her husband in the war, she still had a home to return to. As much as he'd fought with his family, he knew they would never require her to find a job to support her and her daughter, if for no other reason than such uncivilized behavior might harm their social standing. With a place assured her, why was she so set on Seattle?

* * *

Allie spent most of her second day aboard ship learning the routines of mealtimes, setting up her own routine with Gillian and determining how she and Maddie would share chores in their little room. Mr. Mercer also gathered his little flock and expressed his concerns for their safety.

“The eyes of the world are upon us, my dears,” he told them as he paced before them in the upper salon, the tails of his coat flapping with each step. “We must do all we can to prove we are endowed with the utmost of taste and civility.”

“He should have thought of that before he hid in the coal bin,” Maddie murmured to Allie.

Mercer must have heard her, for he clasped his hands behind his frock coat, gazed at his charges and explained. “I am certain some of you were concerned about our little contretemps leaving New York. Rest assured that matters have been resolved.”

Many of the women seemed to accept that, but Allie could not keep silent. “Then you've determined what became of the missing money and will reimburse those who paid twice.”

Mercer adjusted the black cravat at his throat. “As I said, madam, the matter has been resolved, and I apologize for any confusion or consternation it may have caused. Now is the time for every lady under my escort to focus on her future in Seattle.” His gaze swept them again. “And there will be no fraternizing with the officers.”

Several of the women stiffened at that, and two went so far as to argue with him.

“Mother?” Gillian asked, turning to glance up at Allie from her place in Allie's lap. “What's fraternizing?”

“Nothing that need concern you for a good number of years,” Allie assured her. Maddie smiled at that, but Allie couldn't help wondering about their benefactor's motives. She had been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt concerning the tickets, but his vague assurances were not satisfying. Besides, when he had lectured in the Boston area, he'd said this trip would help the women start over after their losses in the war. If they wanted a husband and found one aboard ship, why did that concern him?

She found herself looking forward to dinner and the chance to ask Clay about the matter. Very likely it was that anticipation that set her heart beating faster when she sighted him entering the room.

Before she could question him, however, she had to take care of her daughter. She focused on cutting the slab of salty beef into smaller chunks Gillian could lift with her fork. Several of the other people were poking at the beans, mouths twisted in disgust, but Gillian sat beside Allie spooning up the brown blobs and chewing thoughtfully.

“Do you like them?” Allie couldn't help asking.

“No, thank you,” Gillian said. “They're icky.”

Maddie, who was seated on Gillian's other side, shook her head. “They're filling at least. But you're a good girl to eat them.”

“Good girls eat everything on their plates,” Gillian said woodenly, as if repeating a lesson. “Good girls say please and thank-you.”

“Kind people say please and thank-you,” Allie replied, hurting for her daughter. “What you decide to eat has nothing to do with whether you are a good or bad person.”

Gillian frowned at her. “Then may I please have a piece of cake instead?”

Maddie laughed as she gave Gillian a hug. “Sure'n, me darling, I'd bake you one right now if we had the proper ingredients.”

“And I'd let you eat it,” Allie promised. “As it is, this seems to be the best the
Continental
can do. When we reach Seattle, I'll bake you a cake myself.”

Gillian nodded and returned to her beans.

Allie nodded, as well. She'd never baked a cake before in her life, but surely Maddie or one of the other women could teach her. She hadn't washed dishes or made beds before, either, and she was managing that. It wasn't talent that was required but determination, and the Lord had given her plenty of that lately.

That was why she turned to Clay, who was sitting just down the table from them and looking no more pleased with the fare.

“Mr. Mercer said he had resolved the financial issues,” she told Clay. “Have you been reimbursed?”

He smiled at her, and she could not help smiling back. “Mr. Mercer hasn't said a word to me, but your presence and Gillian's are all the reimbursement I need.”

It was a charming thing to say, and she felt her cheeks heating. Enough of that!

“Then I can only hope to take up the matter with Mr. Holladay,” she promised Clay, “when we reach Seattle.”

He shrugged, and she wasn't sure if it was because he thought she'd never convince the wily transportation king to part with the money or if Clay truly didn't care. She made herself focus on the conversation around her, which, thankfully, was generally more satisfying than the food. She found it amazing how many people from all walks of life had decided to make this journey to Seattle.

Mrs. Boardman, for example, was blind, and her husband was particularly solicitous of her because, he told Allie with great joy, she was expecting their first child.

“Though it does concern me that we have only a dentist abroad for medical assistance,” Mrs. Boardman told Allie, one hand on her swelling belly.

“Ms. Stanway is a nurse,” Allie assured her. “I'm certain she'd be glad to help.”

Clay spoke up. “You may want to settle in San Francisco if a doctor's care is important to you, ma'am. There's only one in Seattle, and he treats natives as well as the settlers, so he tends to be busy.”

Mrs. Boardman thanked him for his advice, but Allie couldn't help her frown. Only one doctor in the growing town? What if Gillian became ill or was injured? Would Catherine's skills be enough to save her?

“Mortality on the frontier is notably high,” a young lady named Ms. Cropper put in as if she found the matter fascinating. “Cholera, typhus, dysentery, scalpings.”

Allie shuddered. Time to turn this conversation back to the pleasant. “New lands to discover,” she countered. “Opportunities for new friends, family.”

“Husbands,” Maddie put in with a wink.

“Employment,” Catherine added.

Others chimed in then with their plans to teach, to establish businesses. Allie caught Clay watching, a slight frown settled on his brow. Had they given him as much food for thought as he'd given them?

The meal ended with optimism restored. Everyone seemed in an excellent mood and so excited about their journey, the sights they'd see along the way, the hopes they had for their destination. But as the evening wore on and groups formed to read aloud, talk or play cards, Allie began to feel a change in the ship. Saltcellars slid from one side of the table to the other. Pots clanked in the galley. When she stood, she had to put out a hand to steady herself before taking a step.

One by one, the other women grew quiet, turned ashen. Some dashed up the stairs to the deck, and Allie caught a quick glimpse of them leaning over the railing before the door swung shut behind them and cut off the light. Others retired to their bunks. Clay helped more than one to the kitchen in search of hot water or empty bowls.

Allie was only thankful she, Maddie and Gillian were spared the bouts of seasickness. They retired a short time later and passed the night listening to the dishes clatter against each other in the galley. More than one woman called out that the ship must be sinking. Gillian clung to Allie with a whimper.

Allie had been that afraid many times—when she'd realized her answer at the ball had driven Clay out of Boston, when Frank had marched away to war, when Mrs. Howard had advised her in that cold voice that Allie's only choice was to marry Gerald. Now she could not fear. Despite Clay's comments about medical care in Seattle, she knew she was on the right path.

“The ship isn't sinking,” she assured Gillian, stroking her daughter's silky hair in the dim cabin. “Captain Windsor is very wise, and every sailor we've met is strong and able. They'll see us safely through this storm.”

“But it's so bumpy,” Gillian said, huddling closer.

“Think of it like a carriage ride along a country road,” Allie advised. “Just a few bumps and then we'll be at our destination.”

“Seattle?” Gillian piped up hopefully.

“Seattle,” Allie promised. “But not for a while yet. We must be patient.”

Just then someone pounded on their stateroom door, and she recognized Mr. Debro's voice. “Mrs. Howard! Mrs. Howard! Come quick! It's Mr. Howard, and he's in a bad way!”

* * *

Clay couldn't remember being so miserable. He kept his eyes tight shut as the ship bucked and rolled. With a
whoosh,
a wave heaved up over the bulkhead and doused the door of his stateroom. An answering slosh told him that some of the seawater had forced its way under the door and was spilling across the hardwood floor.