Bartered Bride, page 13
She looked into his eyes, the feelings brimming there, and steeled her waffling, traitorous heart. Don’t trust him. He’s lying to you again.
They came to a stop near the edge of the dance floor. Melissa’s thoughts whirled.
He led her through the crowd toward where her mother and his grandfather sat. “I’d like nothing more than to get out of here, to go someplace we could talk. I have so much to say to you, so much to ask your forgiveness for. You don’t know the half of it yet.”
Abraham’s papery old voice reached them in a lull in the noise. “Frankly I was surprised by your letting Melissa go to those suffrage movement meetings. And in the middle of the night, too. But you don’t need to worry. Jonathan will put a stop to it as soon as they’re wed.”
Melissa’s heart felt like the bottom had opened and the contents drained out. She glanced at her mother.
Almina’s eyes flashed fire, her face blazing. Her mouth opened and closed like a screened door in the wind.
Jonathan’s grip tightened on Melissa’s arm.
She wrenched it away. A liar and a snitch. “You told your grandfather?”
Jonathan spread his hands in an appealing gesture. “Melissa, I promise you I didn’t—”
She tugged at the ring on her finger. Jagged ice coated her insides. She pressed the ring into his hand. “Good-bye, Jonathan.”
Twenty
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Noah hoisted his duffel and stepped onto the gangplank. “I don’t like it.”
Jonathan nudged his brother ahead. “I’m sure. There’s nothing keeping me here.”
“You know you’re welcome aboard, but I can’t help feeling this is a mistake.”
“Enough. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Steam hissed gently, a steady thrum vibrated through the ship. The firemen must be stoking the boiler.
“Put your things in my cabin, and take my duffel, too.” Noah handed Jonathan his bag. “I’ll be aft checking with the engineer. We’ll be underway in about half an hour.”
Jonathan wove his way forward through deckhands grappling ropes, carrying provisions to the galley, and swarming over the pilothouse. Piles of slushy snow lay on the hatch covers, and ice rimed the rails. A week’s snow squalls had kept a fleet of vessels in port, but the day, though cold, looked fair. Relief at their departure curled around the guilty despair in Jonathan’s middle. If they could just get away.
He shouldered his way through the narrow door to Noah’s cabin. Twice the size of the other accommodations aboard ship, it was still smaller than the china closet at Kennebrae House.
His brother’s bag fit in the locker beside the door, but there was no room for Jonathan’s possessions. He slung his valise under the desk. That would do for now. Three steps took him the length of the room. Frost prevented his looking out the portal. But the air in the cabin was warming up, steam whispering through pipes overhead heating the space.
Jonathan lay down on the bunk and clasped his hands behind his head. Footsteps on rungs, clanking pots from the galley down the hall, the ring of metal on metal, and under it all, the growl of the boilers.
Sick at heart. He’d heard the term before, but not until now did he realize the truth of it. He tried to relax, to allow the slap of water against the hull to ease his tension, but failed miserably.
He shifted, bringing his arms down and lacing his fingers over his middle. The crackle of paper made him frown. He dug in his coat pocket and withdrew several sheets of folded documents. His marriage contract. Lawrence Brooke had returned it to him three days ago, the morning after the Shipbuilders’ Ball.
They’d stood in the foyer at Castlebrooke. Melissa refused to see him. Almina glowered at him, her look accusing him of ruining Melissa’s reputation by revealing her suffrage activities and abetting her in conducting them under cover of darkness. He could shrug off Almina’s accusations. But he couldn’t shrug off Lawrence’s words.
“I’m sorry, Jonathan. This isn’t going to work. I’ve tried, Almina’s tried, even Pastor Gardner tried. She’s adamant. When we first put this thing together—your grandfather and I—I thought you two could come to an understanding, that Melissa would acquiesce to my wishes and you’d make a sound match. I had no idea she was entangled in this nonsense about women voting, and I wouldn’t ask any man to marry her until she shed such foolishness. The fact that she remains so resistant to meeting with you shows me that the damage is irreparable. I can see now that your marriage would be a mistake. And as things stand between the families now, it would be better if we discontinued any business dealings as well.” He’d thrust the papers into Jonathan’s hands and walked away. “My lawyers will see to the dissolution of the contracts.”
Jonathan’s anger had kept him warm on the ride back to Kennebrae House. Without bothering to take off his coat, he took the stairs two at a time up to Grandfather’s office.
The argument they had, the harsh words they’d hurled at one another now echoed in his head, swirling, clashing, aching.
The door swung open. Noah came in, unfolding a cot. “I know there’s not much room, but I figured you’d rather bunk in here with me than with the men. We’ve a full crew and no racks to spare. It’s either this or a hammock strung in the crew mess.” He wrestled with the canvas and wood, knocking it against the wall, the bunk, and the locker until he finally crashed it down into the corner. “There, and you can have my extra pillow.”
“Thanks, Noah.” Jonathan swung his feet over the side of the bed and sat up. He put his head in his hands. “We should be pulling out soon, right?”
Noah closed the door and pulled the desk chair out with his foot. “There’s quite a wait, I’m afraid. And we just got word the Capernum’s laid up. We’re going to tow her consort, the Galilee, along with us. It’s loaded and ready to go. We’ll pick her up from the Number Three Dock.” He sank onto the chair and clomped his boots up onto the cot. “We have time for a little chat.”
“Noah, we’ve been through this. I don’t want to talk about it.” Jonathan lifted his head long enough to frown at his brother.
“Well, I do, and we’ve got nothing better to do until they signal us for our turn to pull out. Did you say good-bye to Grandfather?”
“No. I haven’t spoken to him since Friday. We’ve said all we need to say to one another.”
“I can think of a few things you haven’t said that need saying.”
“Like what?”
“How about, ‘I’m sorry?’ ”
Jonathan looked up. “Are you serious? After what he’s done? He should be apologizing to me. Manipulating, conniving, double-dealing, then dropping the boom on everyone by blabbing about Melissa’s suffrage work. Then having the nerve to tell me it was all my fault things fell apart like they did. He’s blaming me!” He thumped his chest with his fist. “I told him he could keep it—Kennebrae Shipping, Kennebrae House, all of it. He made his bed; now he can just lie in it. I told him to contact Gervase Fox and unload what he could to keep his head above water. That’s all I can do.”
Noah stroked his beard, his eyes troubled. “And what of Melissa?”
Jonathan winced at her name. “It’s over, and you know it. She gave the ring back. The contract’s broken. She wouldn’t see me.”
“Funny, when all this started, you were dead set against the marriage, couldn’t wait to find a way out of it. Then you went and fell in love with the girl. Not that I blame you. She’s great. If you weren’t so right for her, I’d have a go at trying to win her myself.” He grinned.
“Good luck.” Jonathan lay back on the bunk again. He pressed his palm to his heart, feeling the cold lump of a sapphire and diamond ring in his inner coat pocket.
Noah let his feet thud to the floor. “And you say Grandfather’s stubborn. You love her, and I know she loves you, too. And here you are, set to sail out of the harbor, your tail tucked firmly between your legs, afraid to fight to get her back.”
Jonathan said nothing, angry and weary of the topic altogether.
“Well? Are you going to fight for her?”
“The fight is over. I lost. Now leave me alone.” He rolled to face the wall.
After long minutes the door clicked shut. Noah’s footsteps echoed in the passageway.
❧
Melissa’s shoulders sagged. The newspaper crackled as it fell to her lap. That article, bold as brass on the front page, blaring to the world about her broken engagement. And missing the truth by several leagues.
Sarah, her only companion of the past three days, knelt by the fireplace and swept the grate. The maid had managed to smuggle the paper up to Melissa.
Mother had tried to hide it from her, but Melissa wanted to know the worst.
Melissa sighed, her chest heavy, and raised the paper again. “ ‘November 24. Brooke-Kennebrae Wedding Sunk—The Shipbuilders’ Ball of 1905 will long be remembered for its fireworks. No, not those shot off the end of the dock at midnight but those that took place in the ballroom between the Brooke and Kennebrae families. Melissa Brooke, daughter of Lawrence and Almina Brooke of Duluth, ended her engagement to Jonathan Kennebrae of Kennebrae Shipping publicly. Scuttlebutt says a difference of opinion regarding giving women the vote is at the root of this surprising turn of events. Our sources tell us Miss Brooke has been engaged in an underground suffrage movement in the Duluth area for some months. Mr. Kennebrae, left flat-footed and stunned on the dance floor, has our sympathies.’ ”
Tears stung Melissa’s eyes, but she blinked hard and continued reading. “ ‘For several weeks the Brooke-Kennebrae nuptials have taken a great portion of this column’s ink: wedding gifts, guest lists, flowers, music, the intimate details provided us by Mrs. Almina Brooke. It seems such a waste, and the wedding of the year, set for just three weeks from tomorrow, is now officially off. Neither Miss Brooke nor Mr. Kennebrae could be reached for comment. Mr. Kennebrae’s office has informed us of his imminent departure for Erie, Pa.’ aboard the cargo steamer, Bethany, at the beginning of next week. Perhaps he made a lucky escape.’ ”
Sarah sat back on her heels, her mouth drawn down. “I’m sorry, miss. They have no cause to talk about you that way.”
“It’s all right, Sarah. They got so much wrong that it’s like they’re talking about someone else.”
“I got your note down to Mrs. Britten. She said Peter and Wilson would deliver word to all the ladies not to come tonight. And she’d arrange with Kennebrae’s to get all the things out of Mr. Kennebrae’s office as soon as possible.”
Melissa closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the chair. “I’ll have to get word to Mrs. Britten to cancel the chartered train. I won’t have the money for it now.”
Mother entered, her mouth pinched, eyes narrow. She sagged into the chair opposite Melissa.
Sarah averted her gaze and hurried from the room. Melissa wished she could do likewise.
“I’ve spent all day canceling wedding arrangements. The florists, the food, the orchestra. You have no idea.”
“I’m sorry, Mother. I wish there was something I could do to help.” Melissa said the words carefully, knowing the knife-edge her mother walked with her temper these days.
“You’ve helped enough. I see you’ve read that wretched article. I’ll never be able to show my face at the club again, thanks to that awful reporter. And I might as well forget ever being invited to the bridge club or the garden society. I’m a pariah in this town.”
“I know how difficult all this has been for you.” Melissa couldn’t keep the dryness from her tone. Mother’s martyrdom had grown tiresome.
“How like you to be sarcastic. You’ve no care at all for the consequences of your actions. You never have. If you had thought how this would play out, you’d have bitten your tongue, kept your radical ideas to yourself, and gotten married as I wanted. Now I don’t know what we’ll do with you. You can’t stay here. Perhaps it would be best if you were to take an extended trip out to your father’s Aunt Persephone in San Francisco.”
“Oh no, please. Her house is like a mausoleum, and she smells of vegetable tonic.”
“I daresay she does. However, you have no further say in this mess of your making. You’ll do as you’re told for once.”
Melissa sat staring at the closed door when Mother left. The ache in her heart, the yearning emptiness, threatened to swallow her whole. Alone, she could contemplate the last lines of the article. Jonathan was leaving—leaving her to face the town’s curiosity alone, to take the blame that belonged to him. His betrayal was complete.
❧
Jonathan finally levered himself off the bunk and headed to the wheelhouse. He braced himself against the roll of the ship, surprised at the strength of the waves. The clanging of the channel-marker buoys and harbor sounds slid behind them. The engine hummed, propelling them through the chop. He couldn’t stay in the cabin for the entire journey. He’d go mad.
Up one flight then out onto the deck. He gripped the rail and looked over the side. The Bethany rode low in the water, her hold laden with iron ore, showing about twelve feet of freeboard. Waves curled back, creamy white over greenish gray along her hull.
Gulls cried and keened along the shore off the port side. He looked astern, past the consort barge, Galilee, to Duluth growing steadily smaller.
Kennebrae House’s slate mansard roof jutted skyward, its solid frame dark against the hillside. Almost abeam of them, the gray walls of Castlebrooke rose, stately and smooth. She was in there, angry and hurt, stubborn and unwilling to listen to reason. Believing he had betrayed her and refusing to let him explain.
He turned from the rail, disgusted at himself. Up another flight to the chart room and through to the wheelhouse.
A sailor stood at the wheel, Noah behind him on a high chair.
Jonathan noted his frown. “What is it?”
Noah tapped the barometer on the wall beside him. “The bottom’s dropping out of this thing. Harbor forecast said cold and fair. But I don’t like the look of this. The wind’s picking up. I think we’re in for some rough seas.”
At that moment a patter of sleety rain hit the windows. A wave slapped the bows, scattering spray upward. The ship lurched but plowed on.
Jonathan shrugged. His life had been nothing but stormy seas of late. What was one more blow?
Twenty-one
Conditions worsened rapidly. Fitful snow turned into squalls then a raging blizzard. The seas grew rougher, mounting before a gusting wind.
“Keep us pointed into those waves,” Noah ordered the helmsman. “If we fall sideways into a trough, we might capsize.” He ducked in front of the wheel and dialed the chadburn to All-Ahead Full. A bell rang below them, and the engine room answered back with “All-ahead full.” The throb of the engine increased in pitch.
Noah spoke into a tube on the wall. “Put two more men down in the boiler room. Keep those fireboxes full. We’re going to need every ounce of power to stay on course.”
Jonathan anchored himself against the pitching of the ship by grabbing the door frame. A bell chimed, twice, a pause, then once.
“It’s seven thirty in the second dogwatch.” Noah kept his eyes forward. Snow scoured the windows. “The watch will change in half an hour.”
“Captain, I see the Two Harbors light.”
Jonathan peered over his brother’s shoulder through the growing gloom, waiting. “I don’t see it.”
“Wait for it, sir.”
Ahead and to port, a faint, lighter spot in the haze then darkness.
A mighty wave burst over the bow, raining ice water over the pilothouse. The engine surged as the wave rippled down the vessel and lifted the propeller clear of the water for a moment.
Jonathan noted the helmsman’s white face, knuckles gripping the wheel, straining to see through the dark.
Noah didn’t look much better, though his voice remained calm. “Right rudder ten degrees.” He consulted the compass. “Stay clear of the shoals.”
“Should we try to make Agate Bay, Captain?”
“No, I don’t think we could make the harbor in these conditions. I don’t fancy plowing into her seawall in the dark.”
For long hours they forged ahead through the worsening storm. Jonathan went between the galley and the wheelhouse, bringing coffee and food to his brother who refused to rest. The temperature plummeted into the teens then into single digits. Ice formed on the rails and decks, making maneuvering about the boat difficult and dangerous.
A seaman, drenched and dripping, ducked into the tiny room. “Captain, the waves are breaking over the spar deck.”
“Are the hatches holding?” Noah staggered as the Bethany slewed. He grabbed the window ledge to steady himself. “Are we taking on water?”
“The bilge pumps are coping, sir, but just barely.”
“Very well. Any word from the Galilee?”
“None, Captain. But it’s rough out there. The line’s staying taut.”
“Go back and watch that line. I wish we’d doubled the hawsers in harbor.”
The seaman tugged his hat on tight and shouldered open the door.
“Can we make Isle Royale? Anchor in the lee of the island, sir?” The helmsman’s voice rose with each question.
Jonathan’s unease grew. “Noah—” A monstrous wave crashed against the ship, jerking her almost sideways. Jonathan was slung to the floor, striking his head against the captain’s chair bolted to the floor. For a moment stars shot through in his vision. He righted himself, accepting his brother’s hand to help him up.
Water sluiced down the windows, blinding the men with every wave. Winds buffeted the ship, pushing so hard that even with the engines at maximum capacity, she made no headway.
“Captain, we’re listing to starboard. The pumps are falling behind, sir.”
