Ship of Dreams (9 page)

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm sure you did all you could."

She sniffed once, then raised her chin almost defiantly, repudiating her momentary weakness. "Yes, I know I did. And it was a very long time ago." Now her tone became brisk again.

"But Papa took Tommy's death personally, and seemed to feel that if he could just find his lode and give the rest of us a life of luxury, it would compensate somehow. A penance, I suppose. So he worked longer hours than any of the other prospectors, even though he was by no means one of the stronger men. He broke his health, in the end, but he did find what he sought."

"And settled you all in Sacramento," Kenton recalled from yesterday. "You were rich, then?"

She smiled again, but this time it held more than a hint of bitterness. "Briefly. Very briefly. Papa bought us a fine house, fine clothes, hired servants, all the trappings. He seemed almost his old self again, cheerful and carefree. But only a few months later, cholera swept through Sacramento. Maire recovered, but ... Mama died." She sighed.

He might not trust Della, but he felt nothing but sympathy for her now—or, at least, sympathy for the girl she had been five years ago. Of course, that could be her whole motive in telling him this story ... but he didn't think so. "And your father?"

The deck was growing crowded now, so again they retired to the railing, as far from other people as they could manage. Della stared at the waves, much as Kenton had done earlier.

"He changed—again. This time, though, he seemed to have no real goal, beyond drowning his sorrow. He took to drink, then to gambling. All too soon, Maire and I were forced to find work. She found a position in a florist's shop, and I waited tables at one of the finer restaurants, until I had saved enough to start my own business."

Kenton could not suppress a grudging admiration for her resourcefulness and courage. "You were how old then?"

"Sixteen. I would pull my hair into a bun to look older and more responsible." She flashed a grin that, for a fleeting moment, made her look barely more than sixteen now.

"And what was the nature of your business?" he asked, when she turned back to the sea.

She hesitated. "Actually, I tried several things before I found something profitable. I started with vegetables and poultry from our own small garden and henhouse, but with the competition in Sacramento, I couldn't undercut prices and still make enough money to live on. I shifted to more gourmet items, but those took a long time to prepare. Again, the return was too small. The same was true of sewing."

He nodded. He knew what it was like to struggle to keep a business afloat, to have family depending on oneself. "So your sister was largely supporting you all?"

Della turned wide, startled eyes on him. "Oh, no. I was bringing in far more than her meager salary, but I knew there was much more money to be made, if I could just find the right product. Finally, just about the time my father died, I did. The market in San Francisco was even more lucrative, so as soon as Maire had wed and left, I went there."

"And that product would be ...?" She seemed extraordinarily cagey on this point, he thought, his earlier suspicions reviving.

And still she hesitated. "Patent medicines," she said at last, not looking at him. "I bought up a traveling salesman's remaining stock and literature, did a bit of research, and set up shop myself."

"You mean—" But the noon bell cut across his words. Glancing up, he realized in amazement that the sun had climbed to the meridian while they talked. Immediately, though, his thoughts returned to what she'd just said. Patent medicines? Della Gilley was nothing more than a snake-oil saleswoman!

"Shall we return to the dining room?" she asked, still not meeting his eye. Evidently she had no more respect for her profession than he did. If anything, that lowered his opinion of her even further.

He wanted to demand to know how she could justify making her living in such a way, preying on the hopes and fears of her fellow creatures, but now people were pressing close to them. Their brief idyll of solitude, rather remarkable in retrospect, was broken.

And now it would be harder than ever to play his role, knowing that, in essence, Della was little different from his brother Charles.

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Della didn't quite dare to take Kent's arm as they headed back to the dining saloon. She was afraid he might pull away from her if she tried, which would be mortifying—not to mention hard to explain to the others. Why had he dragged the truth of her most recent enterprise from her? Why had she let him?

"You two have been in such close conversation all the morning!" Mary Patton exclaimed from her left just then. "I have heard it said that once a man and woman marry, they no longer find anything to talk about. It's terribly romantic, to see you proving that old saw wrong! Is it not, Robert?" She nudged her husband.

He chuckled. "See what you've done, Bradford? Now the rest of our wives will expect us to devote that kind of undivided attention to them all the day long. We'll have to trade cards, cigars, and masculine conversation for feminine chatter 'round the clock."

"What's that, Patterson?" asked Billy Birch coming up just then. "Do you mean to say you haven't discovered the way to make your bride forget about talk for at least part of the day?"

Virginia Birch tittered and swatted him with her furled parasol, drawing a general laugh from the others as they seated themselves at the long tables. Soon the tone was much as it had been at supper last night, with Billy leading the other gentlemen in ribald jests.

Della tried to smile in all the appropriate places, but her thoughts were still running on her earlier conversation. She had not missed the way Kent had withdrawn when she mentioned her patent medicines, and she could hardly blame him. Most such peddlers were hucksters and swindlers, and the worst were a menace to mankind. In fact, she'd discovered a fair number of noxious compounds among the ones she'd originally purchased—and quickly disposed of them.

Earlier, while she'd told of her childhood and adolescence, she was almost certain she'd surprised an expression of respect on his face, perhaps even admiration. But now she had destroyed that, perhaps permanently. She wasn't sure why gaining his admiration was so important to her, but it was. And even more than his admiration, she desired his trust—something that was surely lost to her now.

"Della, you mentioned a sister who recently married," Addie Easton said when the group quieted somewhat to turn their attention to their meal. "Was she younger or older than you?"

Welcoming the distraction, Della replied, "Younger, by a year and a half. Quite the beauty of the family, Maire is, with long golden curls and eyes like turqoises. It's no wonder one of the most prominent young men in Sacramento snapped her up."

"Maire. What a pretty name. Is your family Irish, then?"

Della nodded.

"Well, we'll try not to hold that against her, eh?" called Mr. Sharpe from a few places down the table.

Glancing his way, Della caught a glimpse of something in his expression that repelled her—something she'd seen too many times before. Prejudice. She tried not to bristle, mindful that the man was important to Kent's business dealings.

"How kind of you, Mr. Sharpe," she said with exaggerated gratitude, earning a chuckle from those around her. "I'll do my very best not to embarrass my husband by my ancestry."

"I'm sure we're all prepared to make allowances," replied Sharpe with a smile she didn't much care for.

Della opened her mouth to tell him what she thought of his "allowances," but Kent spoke before she could.

"I assure you, Sharpe, my wife can hold her own with the bluest blooded among us—in both wit and manners." He kept his voice light, bantering, but there was no mistaking the steel underneath.

For a moment, an awkward silence descended over the table, but then Billy Birch piped up, "Nicely said, Bradford, and an example to all of us new husbands on how we're called upon to defend our women, eh?" He raised his fists and simulated a boxer's stance, which was quite comical as he was still seated.

Laughter effectively broke the tension, though Della noticed more than one accusatory glance directed at Mr. Sharpe for his rudeness. Sharpe noticed it too, for he lapsed into embarrassed silence for the remainder of the meal.

When at length they all rose, Sharpe remained seated. Glancing back, Della intercepted a glowering stare before he quickly schooled his expression into one of nonchalance.

Pretending not to notice, she turned away and took Kent's arm to accompany the others out onto the deck, where they played a game of counting the knots in the rigging. There was no real opportunity for private conversation, but Della did manage a quick word to Kent while the others were distracted.

"Thank you for defending me earlier." She hoped her sincerity was evident in her voice and expression. "I know you would have preferred to avoid antagonizing Mr. Sharpe."

He slanted an unreadable glance down at her. "I've never been able to stomach prejudice in any form—even when it may be deserved."

Stung, she sucked in a breath, but he continued before she could speak.

"In any event, I meant what I said to him. But I fear he will be even more on the alert now for anything that might discredit me—or the pair of us."

Mary Patterson called their attention back to the game then, allowing Della to hide her sudden thrill of alarm. The easy camaraderie of the group was a welcome distraction. Still, Della spent every idle moment for the remainder of the day trying to decide which frightened her more—her potential physical danger, or her wildly conflicting feelings toward her pretended husband.

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CHAPTER 7

The Sun came up upon the left,

Out of the sea came he!

And he shone bright, and on the right

Went down into the sea.

—Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Kenton's thoughts were in equal turmoil as the day wore on toward evening. His feelings toward Della seemed to careen wildly back and forth between distrust bordering on revulsion and admiration mixed with no little bit of attraction. He glanced over to where she stood near the starboard rail, laughing and pointing up at the rigging, silhouetted by the sinking sun. Never had he known anyone more vital, more alive.

More beautiful.

Oh, Della wasn't a beauty in the classic sense, not like his fiancée, Caroline, with her sculpted features and smooth blonde locks. But Della's vivid coloring, combined with the intelligence and spirit that animated her features, created a whole that was incredibly alluring.

He shook himself. This was absurd! He could not afford to think along these lines—particularly when they still had tonight to get through, and all the other nights to come, alone in their tiny cabin. After all, he didn't even
like
the woman. Did he?

"Come, Bradford, we need you to settle this argument before the dinner bell rings," exclaimed Robert Patterson, breaking in upon his thoughts. "Does that tangle up there, just to the right of the topsail, count as two knots, or three?"

The distraction was welcome, and Kenton turned his attention to the knots in question, pronouncing his opinion that there were, in fact, four, just before the bells rang out to signal the evening meal.

Della joined him as they made their way back to the saloon, looking flushed, windblown, and happy. He couldn't resist smiling back at her, and reluctantly wondered how much happiness she'd actually had in her short, difficult life.

Sharpe had not been in evidence all afternoon, nor did he join the newlywed couples at dinner. A glance down the long room showed that he was again seated at the captain's table. Kenton was just as glad, though he knew he'd eventually have to make his peace with the man. Sharpe had too many important connections to ignore. Still, he could not help being unsettled by the glimpses he'd had of the uglier side of the man's nature.

"Yes, the Carolinas," Della was saying to Virginia Birch, who sat across from her. "Charlotte, I believe. Her husband's family is there, and he is to be heir to their plantation."

"So your sister has gone to be a southern belle," Virginia commented. "That will be quite a change from California, I imagine."

Kenton listened for a moment, learning a bit more about Della's family in the process. But he'd have to wait until they were alone to discover the things he really needed to know—like the details of that murder accusation. And how likely it was that Sharpe might somehow hear of it.

"I thought you were going to give me a head start, so that I could change before you came in," said Della the moment the cabin door closed behind them a couple of hours later.