Love Inspired Historical November 2014 (35 page)

He grimaced, but she didn't know if the look had been caused by her words or the pull of the makeshift tar. She went to wet the cloth again and brought it back for him.

This time he took it from her hand and pressed it against his face himself. His gaze met hers over the material, his eyes in the dim lamplight were the color of the cool green waters. “You should be praised, Allegra, every hour of every day. You're raising Gillian alone, helping others advance themselves, making sure your friends have the knowledge they need to survive in Seattle. You amaze me.”

She thought her skin must be as pink as his. “Anyone can be amazing, Clay, if you give them a chance.”

“Now,
that
I highly doubt.” His fingers, so strong, wiped away the last of the molasses. She plucked a stray feather off his chin. He caught her hand, held it tight.

“What are you going to do when we reach Seattle, Allegra?” he murmured. “You've fought to get this far. You have to know it will only get harder from here.”

She shook her head. “But it can't, Clay. The hard part was making up my mind to do something, to go somewhere. Now I just have to keep moving, and everything will be all right.”

“I envy your optimism.” His thumb caressed the back of her hand, raising goose bumps along her arm. “But I can't help thinking you're going from the frying pan into the fire. How do you expect to support Gillian?”

Fear flared inside her like a wick brought to life. No! She would not give in.
This is Your leading, Lord. Help me remember that.

“I'll find a way,” she told Clay. “I had hoped to open shop as a seamstress, but I can see now there won't be enough work.”

Some part of her hoped he would argue that point, but he nodded instead. She could feel her spine straightening.

“There must be some need for an educated woman in Seattle,” she insisted. “Perhaps something you teach us will strike a chord. Or perhaps it will come to me when we get there.” She took the cloth from his other hand.

He peered at her as if trying to gauge how she was going to react to his next words. “You're starting to sound like me, going where the wind blows you. Most folks can't handle that way of life.”

“You did,” she pointed out. “You seem to have done well.”

He eyed her as if she'd never thought to hear her admit his success. “I admire your determination, Allegra. But what if you're wrong? What if the only choice left to you is to marry to keep you and Gillian from starving?”

Frustration pushed her back from him, pulled her hand from his. “If you have to ask, you really don't know me at all.” She started past him to return the cloth to the galley, and he caught her arm.

“I won't let you starve,” he promised. “If the worst happens, come to me. I'll make sure you and Gillian are cared for.”

It was a noble gesture. She knew that. He was being the gentleman everyone had always hoped he'd be, the kind person Gillian had named him. She laid her free hand against his cheek and was surprised to find it as soft as the silk of her gowns.

“Thank you for the offer,” she murmured. “I know it is sincere. But perhaps, Clay, it's time I cared for myself.”

He was silent a moment, but she could feel the tension in him. His broad shoulders strained against his coat; every plane of his face was tight and controlled. At last he drew in a deep breath and looked away.

“You asked me to compromise my beliefs once and stay in Boston,” he said, deep voice as gentle as a caress. “I couldn't do that. Now you're asking me to compromise again, and I'm finding it just as hard.” His look speared back to hers. “I returned to Boston to protect you, Allegra. I jumped aboard this ship to protect you. Don't ask me to stop.”

She laid a hand on his arm. “But I must ask you, Clay. If you protect me from every mistake, how will I learn?”

He took her hand, cradled it in both of his. The warmth of his touch made her own muscles feel as soft as the molasses. “And how can I stand by and watch you and Gillian get hurt?” he murmured. “I'd sooner cut off my own arm.”

“I understand,” Allie told him. “I struggle to know when I should keep Gillian close and when I should let her try her wings. But that's different. I'm her mother. It's my duty and privilege to guide her steps. You aren't my father, Clay. It's not your responsibility to save me from myself. Frankly, it's not your responsibility to save me at all.”

Oh, but she was going to have a mutiny on her hands any moment. She could almost see the arguments mustering behind his eyes. It wasn't in him to give up on something he believed. Perhaps that's one of the things she admired most about him.

But she wasn't about to give up, either.

She pulled away from him. “Let me offer you a compromise, though I know how much you hate the concept.”

He cocked his head. “I'm listening.”

That was more than she'd once thought possible. “Give me the opportunity to make my own mistakes,” she said, “to chart my own course, just as you did when you left Boston. And I promise, if I feel myself incapable of resolving a problem, I'll come to you for advice.”

She held out her hand. “Do we have a bargain, sir?”

He hesitated a moment, then swallowed her hand in his grip. His fingers were as firm as her convictions. “We have a bargain, madam, though I have my doubts that either of us can keep it.”

Chapter Twelve

W
ho was this woman who called herself Allegra Howard? Clay had always found her beautiful, from her thick raven tresses to her sculptured figure. Now her determination seemed to light her from within like a candle in a lamp. The glow only served to draw him closer.

And that would be a mistake for them both. She was journeying to Seattle to make a fresh start, to provide for her daughter. His life held no stability. Oh, Allegra claimed to be willing to improvise, but he thought that was optimism talking. They'd both been raised to expect a husband to be a steady, reliable force in the home. He'd long ago realized he could never be that man. The best he could do was comply with her wishes and give her room to try her wings.

He even thought he was dealing fairly well with the idea, at first. He listened to her advice on what to teach, from medicinal uses of the local plants to the best clothing for wet, cold winters. He watched her shelve the books she had insisted Mercer allow the women to read and only carried the heaviest box from storage for her, even though she hadn't asked. He didn't intercede when she stood up against Mercer on an increasing number of topics.

But when they reached Rio de Janeiro in the middle of February, he knew he'd have more trouble merely standing by.

After more than three weeks aboard ship, Clay was itching to set his feet on land again. He wasn't the only one. It seemed every woman on board was leaning over the bulwark to catch a glimpse of the red-clay roof tiles of the city. That was about all that could be seen from the harbor, for around them the masts of other ships, thick as a forest, reached for the sky. Clay knew that Captain Windsor had already sent messages to his fellow captains offering to exchange dinners and the like.

“It appears we are not to be allowed ashore,” Allegra told him when he asked if she'd like to visit the city. She was sitting in her stateroom, Maddie curled up on the upper berth with one of their hard-won books, while Allegra sat on a bench plaiting a ribbon into Gillian's golden curls.

“We have to wait,” Gillian told him, lower lip trembling.

“On whose orders?” Clay said, hearing his voice sound suspiciously like a grumble.

Allegra's mouth tightened. “Mr. Mercer's and Captain Windsor's. They've gone ashore to make sure the city is safe for us.”

She sounded nearly as annoyed as he felt. Clay knew the orders would make for a long day. He could have taught a session of the Seattle School, but no one wanted to think about the territory when such an exotic city waited across the harbor.

So they all clustered on the deck and took turns pointing out places of interest, from the rugged mountains that looked like a man's face staring at the sky, to the deep green waters of the harbor. Tall palms lined the beaches and brightly plumed birds soared overhead.

“Are we to be kept captive aboard this ship?” Allegra asked as she and Gillian stood beside him at the railing. “Unable to partake of all this glory?”

Clay couldn't help smiling at her. “I'll talk to the captain. There must be a way to go ashore.”

She shook her head. “It was merely a complaint born of boredom, Clay. I'm perfectly capable of speaking to Captain Windsor myself.”

As it turned out, however, Captain Windsor and Mr. Mercer didn't return until late, so it was the next morning before anyone could request a moment of the gentlemen's time.

Clay had dressed in his navy jacket, tucked his brown wool trousers into his boots and come down to breakfast in the lower salon when he saw Mercer step to the head of the table. Allegra in her blue-and-white gown looked up from where she'd been dividing an apricot-colored muskmelon for Gillian. At least some fruit had found its way aboard from the captain's excursion.

“My dear ladies,” Mercer said, raising his hands as if to issue a benediction, “may I have your attention?”

The diners quieted as Clay made his way to stand behind Allegra and Gillian. Mercer smiled as if in appreciation that they had listened to him for once.

“I fear I must be the bearer of ill tidings,” he confessed, hanging his head. “The city is besieged by cholera.”

Gasps rang out, and Allegra covered the pieces of fruit with her hand before Gillian could take another bite.

“Yes, yes,” Mercer said as if he agreed with their dismay. “And smallpox, as well. In epidemic proportions, I fear. The place is most unhealthful, ladies. I cannot advise you to brave the dangers.”

Allegra was the first to speak up. “Advise us or allow us?” she asked.

Mercer turned his smile her way. “Why, both, dear lady. It is my duty to protect you.”

Clay nearly groaned aloud. Hadn't Mercer learned his lesson by now? If Allegra had refused to allow Clay to protect her, with their family connections and shared past, she wasn't likely to approve of the emigration agent taking that role. But to Clay's surprise, murmurs ran through the group like thunder before a storm. Seemingly oblivious, Mercer excused himself and headed for the upper salon to make his report there, as well.

Allegra lifted her hand to stare at the melon. “The nerve of the man. Are we to be his prisoners?”

Clay ruffled Gillian's silky hair. “If Captain Windsor agrees with him, I'm afraid we will be. What do you think, Captain Howard?”

Gillian was frowning. “What's coller-a?”

Allegra wrapped her arms around her as if to protect her even from the word. “A very nasty disease, Gillian. One none of us wishes to catch.”

“And one very unlikely to bother a sweet little girl like you,” Reynolds said, strolling up to them. He nodded in greeting to Allegra as he thumped his walking stick down on the floor as if to make his point. “I wouldn't let Mr. Mercer's report stop you from visiting Rio, Mrs. Howard. In fact, I'd be delighted to escort you and your daughter.”

Clay scowled at him. “And what if Mercer's telling the truth for once? You could kill your entire party.”

Allegra puffed out a breath as if she was thoroughly vexed, but at him or Mercer, he wasn't sure.

Reynolds took a moment to smooth his mustache down either side of his smile. “There were no reports of an epidemic before we sailed,” he pointed out. “And I see no quarantine signs on any of the other ships in port. Old man Mercer is merely trying to scare you.” He put a hand on Gillian's head. “I say bring the girl ashore. Make it a party. You'd like that, wouldn't you, my sweet?”

Gillian ducked under his hand and scrambled off Allegra's lap to wrap her arms around Clay's leg. “I want to go with my uncle.”

Reynolds frowned, but Clay loosened her grip and swung her up on his shoulder. “What, go ashore and abandon your ship, Captain Howard?” he teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“Captain Windsor went,” Gillian protested, wiggling to settle herself on her perch. “Please, Mother?”

Clay could feel Allegra's indecision in the tension across the shoulders of her blue gown, the compression of her lips. She had to be as tired of the small ship as he was. And it wasn't as if they were likely to come this way again. Yet was she so determined to try her wings that she'd risk Gillian's health and her own?

“I'd be willing to go ashore if Captain Windsor thinks it advisable,” she said at last. “I trust his judgment. Would you ask him, Mr. Reynolds?”

Clay stiffened, but Reynolds bowed as if he'd been given a royal errand. As soon as he'd left the salon, Allegra rose and held up her arms to her daughter.

“Come down, Gillian,” she said. “We need to make sure you're ready if we're going ashore.”

Gillian obligingly tumbled into her mother's grip, and Allegra bent to put her down on the floor. Motioning to Maddie, who hurried closer, she whispered instructions. With a grin to Clay that somehow told him trouble was coming again, Maddie led Gillian off to their stateroom.

“You, sir,” Allegra declared the moment they were out of hearing, “are going back on your promise.”

Clay spread his hands. “What, because I stated my opinion? I don't have to agree with everything you do, Allegra. Part of blazing your own path is being willing to stand up to those who oppose you.”

“I'm not afraid to stand my ground,” she replied. “But when you state your opinion over mine in front of Gillian, you put her in the middle. I will not have it.”

Clay shook his head. “You may be able to order your thoughts to suit yourself, Allegra, but you cannot order the world to fall in line. However, I think you're smart to get another report about the matter besides Mercer's. We both know he's likely to say anything so long as it keeps his hens in their coop.”

She deflated. “There we can agree. Oh, but the man is maddening! If the city is infested with cholera and smallpox, of course Gillian can't visit. I would never expose her to such dangers.”

Only the danger of moving to the opposite side of the country, it seemed. Yet he knew he could not point that out, not when the fire was only just beginning to fade from her eyes. “I'll come with you if you like.”

The fire sprang to life once more. “Did I ask for a nursemaid?”

Clay shook his head. “Did I offer to be one? It's a strange place, Allegra, in a strange country. It makes sense for several of us to go together for protection.”

“Protection again.” She sighed more forcefully. “Oh, very well. I suppose you're right. But do not dictate to me, Clay Howard, or you may well find yourself alone on that beach, and you'll have no one to blame but yourself.”

* * *

As soon as the words left her mouth, Allie regretted them. Clay had only been trying to be helpful, and she'd lashed out. She couldn't say she was surprised by her reaction. It seemed at every turn someone stood between her and her goal, and all in the name of protecting her!

Before she could apologize, however, he inclined his head and strode out of the lower salon. She could understand his reaction. Running away had to be preferable to dealing with her flaring temper.

There was definitely a trick to this independence, and she hadn't mastered it yet. Surely she could find a way to state her opinion and evaluate the thoughts of others without becoming a shrew!

Mr. Reynolds appeared in the doorway from the deck just then and headed toward her. He was a compact fellow, powerful chest, strong jaw, head set squarely on his shoulders. He moved with assurance, as well, as if completely certain he was in the right. Several of the women glanced his way as he passed as if interested. Allie knew if he hadn't been coming to tell her news she'd asked him to retrieve, she probably wouldn't have noticed him. Clay had ever been the only man to command her attention the moment he entered a room.

“Captain Windsor gives his blessing,” Mr. Reynolds assured Allie as he joined her. “He agrees that Mr. Mercer's assessment of the situation might be biased a bit too high.”

“Too high, but not out of the question,” Allie surmised. “So there is cholera and smallpox.”

“There's cholera and smallpox in every city of this size,” Reynolds replied with a smile that said he found her concerns amusing. “Rio boasts more than four hundred thousand souls. That's nearly ten times the size of Boston.” His smile grew as he leaned closer. “Trust me, Mrs. Howard. I would never let anything happen to such a lovely lady.”

The spicy scent of his cologne singed her nose, and Allie stepped back from him. “Thank you for the information, Mr. Reynolds. I'll let Maddie and Gillian know we're going. Please tell Mr. Howard, and see if he can find Ms. Stanway.”

She started around him, and Reynolds moved to block her way. “Must we invite the others? Couldn't I have you and your charming daughter all to myself for once?”

Allie met his gaze. His smile was warm, but his gray eyes seemed so cold. Was he truly attempting to flirt with her?

“Mr. Reynolds,” she said, trying to be kind, “I value your friendship to me and Gillian, but you must know that I will entertain no thoughts of courtship. I never intend to marry again.”

A shadow crossed behind his eyes, and he straightened. “Of course, Mrs. Howard. Forgive my presumption. I'll tell Mr. Howard you'll be ready shortly.” His walk was stiff as he moved away, and the sound of his walking stick hitting the floor was louder than usual.

Allie sighed as she went to fetch Gillian. She'd managed to depress two gentlemen in a quarter hour. That was not a promising beginning to the day.

She hated to hurt Mr. Reynolds, but she had no feelings for him and couldn't see herself developing any. She could only take comfort in the fact that she was no longer the type of woman willing to keep him dangling with sweet promises she had no intention of keeping.

Thank You, Lord, that I have grown.

When she joined Clay and Mr. Reynolds at the longboat a short time later, she found a group waiting. Catherine and Maddie had been persuaded to come along, and Mr. Debro and another officer were going to row. The purser would be staying onshore to arrange for more fruit and vegetables for their table.

Allie held Gillian close as the boat skimmed over the water, the air warm as summer. The breeze still held the brine of the sea, but over it she fancied she caught the scent of oranges.

“Where shall we go first, Captain Howard?” Clay called from his place near the bow.

Gillian's gaze followed a flock of parrots wheeling overhead. “May I see the birds, please?”

“Best make for the market, then,” Mr. Debro advised from his place amidships. “I hear the botanical gardens are nice, but they're outside the city, so you'd need to hire a hack to visit them.”

Allie wasn't sure what to expect as the sounds and scents of Rio wrapped themselves around her. The sun seemed so much brighter here, even on the narrow, crooked streets along buildings of creamy stone. She had to squint to see Clay at the head of their cavalcade as he pushed through crowds of dark-skinned men who called questions in a language she could not understand. Mr. Reynolds walked at the back of the procession, with Allie, Gillian, Maddie and Catherine in the middle. That didn't stop people from pointing at them. They seemed to find Maddie's red hair particularly intriguing.