A Light For My Love, page 27
China glanced quickly at the planking under her feet, self-conscious. If her lack of sleep showed on her face, was the reason for it also written there?
But Dalton went on, apparently unsuspecting. He gestured at the burned corner of the house. "I know you're worried, but try not to lose any more sleep over this. It's a hell of a mess in there—we've got water soaking into the flooring and I think your table is a loss. But we can fix this." He hooked the hammer under another ruined board.
The smell of wet, incinerated wood was strong out here. What must it be like inside? And had anything else in town burned last night?
This thought brought her back to the main reason for her visit. She looked at Dalton's dirty, tired face, trying to guess what his reaction might be to her request.
"Dalton, I need to ask a favor of you."
He lowered the hammer again and dragged his forearm across his smudged, sweating brow. "You know I'll help if I can. What is it?"
She laced her gloved fingers together. "Early this morning the crimps set fire to Jake's ship."
The faintest of smiles touched the corners of his mouth. But she'd seen that expression before, and she knew it didn't stem from amusement or joy. He'd told her once that sometimes, when really bad things happened, the only way to talk about them was to smile. It hurt too much otherwise.
"Jesus God," he muttered. "Was that the red glow toward the west?"
China nodded. "There's nothing left. I watched it myself. She burned to the waterline and broke up downriver."
He winced and shook his head, then began plying his hammer again. "I feel bad for that barkentine. I saw her—she looked like a good sailer. It's a wasteful loss of a good ship."
"Yes, well, it's just about ruined Jake. Everything important to him was tied up in that ship," she swallowed before going on, "and—and I feel like we should do something for him."
He glared at her, and the look was so intense she took a step back. "Do something for him! What the hell for? If he had his way, the league would be as dead as his ship."
Dalton Williams could be very intimidating when provoked, but China stiffened her back and scraped up the courage to face him. "You know that isn't true, Dalton. He just isn't as . . . earnest about it as we are. Now he's in trouble. I only want you to ask two or three of the men here to stand watch at the warehouse for a few nights. In case the crimps come back before I can get this sorted out."
Dalton yanked viciously on the blackened window frame. "I can't believe you're asking for this. I told you weeks ago, if Chastaine doesn't support us, he's an enemy. He's used shanghaied crews before, and as long as he sails under wind power, he'll use them again." He pushed on, forestalling her next comment. "Yeah, I know he claimed he paid them well and saw to their welfare. I may not keep him out of the water, but I'll be damned if I'm going to help put him back in."
China's forbearance began to fray. The last twenty-four hours had been fraught with emotionally charged events—the riot and the boardinghouse fire, her sweet, brief interlude with Jake, and the scene on the dock. "Dalton, you owe this to Jake," she insisted, her voice low. "Didn't he help you control this fire last night?"
He turned to look at her and raised his brows, apparently surprised by her attitude. "He just happened to be here because he was looking for you."
"What difference does it make? He stayed to help. And because of that, the crimps believe he's involved with the league too. Not only that, but when you come down to it, if it hadn't been for Jake's business dinner, we might not have had enough money to open Harbor House."
Dalton hooked a thumb in his pocket and rested his weight on one hip. Clearly, he was mulling this over with no great enthusiasm.
"Damn it, China . . . " He pushed a hand through his sooty hair.
"You owe this to me, too, Dalton. I've never asked for anything, and I've carried my share of this load. Now I could talk to these men myself, but it would mean more coming from you. Jake did the right thing for the league. I think you're a big enough person to put aside your personal feelings to do the right thing for Jake."
He sighed, then harpooned her with a speculative gaze that suddenly made her feel transparent. It was as though he'd detected the difference between the innocent she'd been yesterday and the woman she'd become during the night. And the reason for that difference.
His voice dropped to a confidential tone that would reach no other ears. "For Jake, huh? China, have you given any thought to what we talked about the other day? About going to Portland, I mean?"
She wandered to the end of the porch. It was strewn with chunks of blackened cinder that crunched beneath her shoes. She turned to look at him. "The league means a lot to you, doesn't it?"
An ardent gleam lit his eyes. "Sure it does. People are really beginning to listen to us. After last night, they're going to start demanding that something be done about shanghaiing in Astoria. Nothing else is as important to me." He paused here, then stumbled, "Well, of course, you—we—"
China shook her head, smiling slightly. "No, Dalton, not me, or even we. You're married to the league. It's your passion, your darling, I suppose. It will always come first in your heart, and that's good. The work is crucial and it needs someone with single-minded dedication. But . . . I know I'd need to be more to my husband than just his assistant."
She wondered why she had no trouble being candid with Dalton, yet couldn't voice her feelings to Jake. Perhaps it was because with Jake, she stood to lose so much more by revealing her heart.
Dalton approached her and started to reach for her arm, then let his hand drop. "China, China! That isn't how I see you. We're equals, a good team. I need your courage and your ideas." He lowered his eyes for an instant. "I know our backgrounds are miles apart—"
She almost laughed. Backgrounds. They'd once been so very important. She knew he didn't understand what she meant.
History was dotted with restless, fire-eyed men like Dalton. They spearheaded revolutions, willing to sacrifice everything for their convictions, moving through the shadows to expose corruption and oppression. They led righteous, ragtag armies to victory, they died on battlefields and had songs sung about them.
Dalton Williams was a martyr to his cause, and nowhere in his life did the role of husband fit.
"Our backgrounds aren't the problem, Dalton. And you can always have my ideas. They're yours as long as you can use them. But I can't marry you, as fond as I am of you, as much as I respect you. If I ever marry, it will be to a man who needs my heart."
He watched her, then simply nodded. His silence was his reply, and she knew her point had reached him.
"Now," she continued softly. "Will you ask three of the men here to stand watch at that warehouse for the next few nights?"
He gazed at her for a long moment, obviously struggling between his wish to deny Jake and his desire to please her.
"Okay." He exhaled. "Not for Chastaine. But for you."
*~*~*
When China got home, she pulled off her gloves and cloak and put them on the hall tree. She wished she could go to her room and lie down to shut out all the feelings besieging her—anxiety, grief, fatigue.
A jumble of questions whirled in her mind. Would Quinn wire her? She didn't even know if he was in San Francisco. He could be on a voyage somewhere. And where had Jake gone after he'd left her? She knew he was old enough to take care of himself, but she couldn't help but worry about him.
Passing the back parlor, she saw Aunt Gert sitting at the marble-topped table, her white head bent over her calling cards. China ambled in and dropped tiredly to the sofa.
Gert glanced at her over her spectacles, then went back to the task. "Jake was here an hour ago," she said, pulling out a misfiled card. "He
took all of his belongings and left. He didn't look very good."
So he'd gone already, China lamented. "Did he tell you what happened this morning?" she asked quietly.
Gert nodded and leveled a vaguely accusing frown on her. "He did. Do you think it was fair to involve him in your business with that sailors league?"
China sat up, suddenly defensive. "Is that what he said? I didn't involve him. He took it upon himself to look for me last night at Harbor House."
"Well, heavens above, child, what did you expect him to do, let you risk your neck in a riot? You've taken lots of chances over the last two years, but that was probably the most dangerous. And it put him in danger, too."
The last two years? China had allowed herself to be openly associated with the league only a few weeks earlier at the dinner party. No one else besides Dalton knew what she'd been doing. "I thought the league was a worthwhile charity—"
Gert plowed on with mild vexation, as though China hadn't spoken. "And I’ll tell you, I held my breath every time you went out to the carriage house. Why, anything could have happened to you. When Jake got here, I was glad to see that he figured out what you were doing and started watching out for you."
"You knew about the carriage house?" China stared at her aunt, her jaw agape.
"Of course I did. I know more than you think about what goes on around here."
China was astounded. "You never said anything . . ."
"There wasn't any point. You're as stubborn as Quinn, in your own way. Besides, dangerous as it was, I thought taking care of those men might make you feel a little better about Ryan." Aunt Gert tapped a stack of cards on the tabletop and put them in their box.
She had believed herself to be so clever, thinking that her dotty aunt was completely unaware of her activities. She was beginning to doubt everything she'd been certain of even just yesterday.
"How did you find out?" she asked, feeling curiously breathless.
"I had a talk with Dalton Williams one day when I went out back looking for my old iron kettle. You can well imagine my surprise when I found him out there patching up an injured sailor. We'd met, of course, the day he came to tell us about your brother. But that didn't explain what he was doing there that afternoon, and I demanded that he tell me." She fanned the edges of the next batch of cards. "When he balked, I threatened to send for the police and have him arrested for trespassing. He talked, all right. But he asked me not to trouble you with it—he said you had enough to worry about."
Dalton had never mentioned it either. "Does anyone else in the house know about this?" China murmured.
"Certainly not! When have I ever been a talebearer? I'm sure Susan doesn't know much of anything, truth be told. And Cap, well, that dear old dickens, he's not one to mince words, or to keep his opinions to himself." This last observation brought a secret smile and a blush of color to Gert's thin face. She dropped her gaze to a cherub-laden card on the cool marble table.
Despite the surprises being flung at her, China didn't miss this last one, and her brows rose at Gert's modest blush. Aunt Gert and Captain Meredith? Ever since Jake had arrived, China had been so preoccupied with her own worries, it seemed she'd lost track of the daily doings of the household.
"You and Cap?" she sputtered.
"He's winked at me a few times, and I won't deny he's caught my attention. Think we're too old, do you?" Gert challenged.
China sighed and massaged her forehead. "No, but it wouldn't matter what I think anyway. I've been wrong about so many things, Aunt Gert. I thought I wanted my old life back, but then when those people came for dinner, I realized how boring and shallow they are."
The older woman wagged a finger at her. "Some are, but not all of them."
"I'd always believed that Jake was no good," China continued. "That he was immoral and irresponsible, that he had no honor."
"And that wasn't true either, was it?"
China's voice dropped to a near-whisper. "No. I was wrong about that too."
Gert reached over and patted her hand. "You can't be certain of what's in a person's heart just because of where he was born. You have to take each person you meet as an individual. Jake is no saint. But he's ten times the man that Zachary Stowe will ever be." Gert gave her a patient smile. "Don't be too hard on yourself, dear. At least you learned from your mistakes."
She had, but China feared that she'd learned it all too late.
*~*~*
Late that afternoon, a young man in a billed cap and a dark coat pedaled his bicycle up the steep hill to the biggest house in Astoria. He carried with him a telegram addressed to the lady of that house, Miss China Sullivan. The young man had transcribed the wire himself, turning meaningless dots and dashes into an intelligible message that read:
will arrive astoria in seven days with ship and full crew stop
tell jake and family stop
quinn sullivan
China stood at the open front door and held the telegram in shaking hands.
She glanced up at the receding messenger, who was now just a dark image at the far end of the street.
Tell Jake and family.
She wasn't ready to kill the fatted calf just yet, although the tone of Quinn's unadorned directive suggested that he felt it was in order. But he was coming. At least he was coming.
Tomorrow morning she would set the second part of her plan in motion, and it would be the riskiest thing she'd yet dared.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“It was terrible news, China," Peter Hollis said, shaking his head. "The crimps don't fear the law, and apparently they have no need to. It's got to stop. I didn't see the fire myself, but I've talked with others who saw the flames from as far away as Main Street. I suppose Captain Chastaine is busy trying to sort it all out."
China sat across from Peter in his office at Pacific Maid Packing Company. He was the last of Jake's shippers that she needed to speak with. So far she'd convinced all but one of them to wait for Quinn's ship. Some had required the collateral she offered. The others had waived that right.
She smoothed her grape faille skirt. "That's exactly it, Peter. Jake is occupied, and since he and I are partners in this venture, I'm trying to help with the details." She explained that her brother was on his way from San Francisco to provide transport.
"Mr. Buchanan, Mr. Stanhope, Mr. Boyer, the Fields brothers—they've all agreed to let their merchandise stand in the warehouse until Quinn arrives. It will mean only a week's delay."
Peter leaned back in his chair, pensively rubbing his bearded cheek with the backs of his well-tended fingers. "I don't know. It sounds risky. Chastaine is on the crimps' blacklist now; they may not be finished with him yet. In a fire, tin cans explode, their labels burn off. It would rain canned salmon all over the waterfront." He shuddered at the picture.
China remembered that the night of the dinner party, Peter had shown the most trepidation when Dalton spoke of battling shanghaiing Even as a youngster, he'd been fretful and cautious. She wasn't particularly surprised that he hesitated now.
"Dalton Williams is providing three men to stand guard at the warehouse," she countered.
"I don't mean to dampen your enthusiasm, China. And believe me, I certainly appreciate your efforts. But the guard could conceivably be overpowered. That cargo is worth a lot of money to this cannery. I probably shouldn't mention this, but—well, we just couldn't afford a loss like that. As a matter of fact, my father is trying to sell his bar piloting business to generate capital for Pacific Maid. I'm afraid I'll have to decline your offer and pull our cargo out of there."
China suppressed a sigh and looked directly into Peter's bland face. "Perhaps you'd feel more comfortable if some kind of collateral secured our agreement."
Peter leaned forward, suddenly curious again. "Collateral? What did you have in mind?"
"My home."
He sat up straighter. His brows nearly reached his receding hairline. Such a young man to be losing his hair, she thought irrelevantly.
"Excuse m-me?" he stumbled.
She'd already done this three times today, but that didn't make it any easier. Her hands grew icy in her gloves. "If your cargo is damaged before it's loaded or if you lose money because of the delay, you will be reimbursed. That's a guarantee. And I'm offering my house as security."
Peter fidgeted in his chair and began straightening the items on his scarred oak desk. "This hardly seems—" His hand strayed to the inkwell, then over to the blotter. "—I don't know. A lady's home—" He pushed a stack of papers away, then pulled them back. Clearly he was unsettled by her offer.
"Trust me, Peter. I wouldn't make such a proposal if I had any doubts about the safety of your merchandise." She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. The truth was, anything could go wrong, and if she lost the house to pay these men, the family could be on the street. But Jake had no confidence left at all, and she was mostly to blame. She gathered her remaining courage and smiled at Peter Hollis. "But if you agree, I'll be happy to have the contract drawn up."
He studied her for a moment, then shook his head. "No. I'll leave my salmon in your warehouse until Quinn gets here. But I think I can manage without collateral."
China quietly released the breath she held. "Good, then. We'll be in touch when Quinn arrives."
Peter escorted her to the door, and China left feeling triumphant.
She turned for home, tired but pleased with what she'd accomplished. She had no practical business experience beyond collecting rent money from her boarders and stalling creditors. To make up for it, she'd taken advantage of the scanty remains of her social standing. She still knew many of the people Jake had courted, and that act, combined with the dinner party, had helped her gain access to these men's offices. And once inside, she found she was able to win their confidence.
The sun rode low on the western horizon as China neared her street, and the shadows grew long. This morning, before she set out on this round of calls, she'd sent a message to Jake at his father's house, asking him to meet her at the house tonight around six so they could discuss all of this. There was just enough time to get something to eat and wash her face before he arrived. She yearned to see him, to be in the same room with him again, if only for a little while. Maybe if he knew she wanted to help him, he'd feel more kindly toward her.
