Love Inspired Historical November 2014 (41 page)

“Mr. Mercer met him,” she protested. “He wouldn't hand me over to a monster.”

Her statement set off a firestorm. Comments flew thick and fast on all sides, with finger-pointing and reddened faces.

“Ladies,” Clay tried, only to hear his own voice drowned in the tumult. He took a deep breath and bellowed, “Ladies!”

They quieted, gazes stormy, faces set. At least they were all turned in his direction now.

“The truth of the matter is that you'll have offers aplenty when you reach Seattle,” he told them. “You may have seen some of the statistics in the papers. Every girl over the age of thirteen is spoken for, and I hear tell in parts of the territory, men are offering the fathers of baby girls allowances in order to marry the girl when she comes of age.”

“That's barbaric!” Catherine cried.

Clay shook his head. “That's survival. A wife is a helpmate, a partner beside you, someone to talk to in the long, cold winter months. And the government gives a man twice as many acres if he has a wife at his side.”

She shuddered. “Small wonder they think to bid over us.”

“But don't you see?” Allie spoke up, meeting each woman's gaze in turn. “They need us. We don't have to settle for the first man who welcomes us on the dock or offers us a cottage.”

“Think carefully before accepting any offer,” Clay encouraged them. “Spend time with the fellow, ask around about him. Seattle is a small place. You'll soon hear enough stories to tell you what sort of fellow he is.”

“And pray over the decision,” Allie told them. “Give yourselves time.”

Maddie glanced around. “But with this many women coming in, sure'n the good men will fall right away.”

Clay chuckled. “You can't imagine, Maddie. Believe me, there are far too many fish along the sound. You can afford to wait for the right one.”

“Or chart your own path,” Allie added. “Mr. Howard has shown us a number of opportunities that might exist there. Make the most of them.”

“Quite right,” Catherine said with a brisk nod. “It's possible to function perfectly well without a husband.”

The dinner gong sounded, and the women rose to go to table. Allie went to lift Gillian off Maddie's lap and take her down to the lower salon, but Allie's words lingered behind.

For every business venture, Clay had done just what he'd told his students. He'd spent time with the person requesting his help, listened to the vision, gauged the person's ability to fulfill it. He'd asked around, leaned about habits, drive. Only then had he been willing to take a risk.

Allie had spent the last two months in his company. She knew his beliefs, what he did, how he worked. What could he do between here and Seattle to prove to her that she should take a risk, on him?

Chapter Eighteen

A
llie found herself thankful for Clay's lesson as the ship continued north. Surely he was right—no man could arbitrarily claim them as wives once they reached Seattle. His assurances went a long way toward calming the other women's fears, as well.

In fact, the closer they were to reaching their destination, the more excitement seemed to be blowing along the decks of the
Continental
. All around Allie, her fellow passengers smiled, laughed and dreamed about the future. She wanted to feel the same hope, but she simply couldn't determine how she would make her way in Seattle, and she refused to think about how Clay might play a part.

He continued to be helpful and polite, but at times she caught him watching her as if he was about to say something of great import. Always when his gaze met hers, he'd smile and offer some observation, perhaps a snatch of poetry.

“Why poetry?” she asked one day as they were walking about the deck in the sunshine. Gillian was playing Scotch-hoppers with Maddie, and Allie couldn't tell who was having more fun jumping about the planks.

“I thought you liked poetry,” he countered. “I seem to remember a dog-eared volume of Byron in your lap as defense against your mother's staid social calls.”

Allie couldn't help smiling at the memory. “I was quite enamored of the English poets back then, and I've found others to enjoy since. I simply struggle to think of a man like you enjoying them.”

“Perhaps because only a true gentleman enjoys poetry,” he said.

His voice was tight; she'd hurt him. She rubbed her fingers along the strength of his arm, stopping him as they reached the stern.

“I didn't mean you weren't a gentleman, Clay,” she assured him. “But poetry seems, well, pretty. I always thought it held greater appeal to women, for all men seem to write it.”

He shook his head. “Poetry appeals to men, as well. It's powerful, unexpected. Look through the eyes of a poet, and you're sure to see the world differently.” He pointed to the vista of sea around them. “‘Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it. If a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be scorned.'”

The words seemed to echo inside her, yet she recognized their source. “But that's the Bible.”

“And some of the most powerful poetry I've ever found. How can any man read it and not be moved?”

He was so certain of his convictions, gaze out over the waves, eyes glowing like gemstones. Part of her wanted to ask him if he felt as strongly about her; another part was afraid to find out.

She was standing along the railing one afternoon just before Easter, thinking hard, when Gillian scurried up to her. Her daughter had been reading a book with Catherine and Matt only a few moments before. Now she tugged on Allie's hand.

“Ms. Catherine says the moon is going to disappear tonight,” Gillian said. “May we stay up to see it? Please?”

“She called it a lunar eclipse,” Maddie explained, joining them by the railing. “Sounds like it will be quite the sight to see, especially here on the ocean.”

“How late?” Allie asked.

“Catherine said midnight or so,” Maddie replied.

Allie frowned. Gillian tugged her hand again. “Please, Mother? I'll be good.”

Allie's heart melted, and she knelt before her daughter. “I know you'll be good, Gillian, because you are always good. It's a little late for you, but if you go to bed early, I promise to wake you in time.”

Gillian positively glowed. She spent the rest of the day telling anyone who would listen that she was going to stay up for the eclipse. Clay and Matt were two of several people who evinced interest in joining her. So it was a large party that gathered on the hurricane deck that night to watch.

In honor of the event, the crew had taken down the shade sail, giving the passengers a fairly unobstructed view of the sky in all directions. The night was clear and warm; the moon was full, hanging round and pearly in the sky. Gillian, whom Allie had woken an hour earlier, yawned behind her hand as she sat on Clay's shoulder in her rainbow-striped dress.

“Look now,” he murmured. “Something's about to take a bite out of the sky.”

Gillian stared upward, eyes wide. As Allie watched, a dark spot appeared on the bright lunar surface, every bit as if some huge animal had munched off the side. Murmurs rumbled around her.

Gillian huddled closer to Clay. “Where is the moon going?”

“Nowhere,” Allie assured her, reaching up to stroke her daughter's back, feeling the tension in it. “You know how when we walk on a sunny day, your shadow covers the deck? That dark spot is a shadow too, of the whole earth.”

“You might say,” Clay murmured, gaze upward as well, “that a little part of that shadow is you, Captain.”

Gillian's mouth opened in an O of wonder.

Careful not to dislodge her, Clay reached for Allie with his free hand. She didn't pull away as he tucked her against him. She allowed herself the luxury of leaning into his embrace, listening to his deep voice as he explained the wonders of the cosmos to Gillian.

The shadow crept over the moon, little by little, moment by moment. Allie couldn't take her eyes from the sight. As the last sliver of moon disappeared, the entire globe turned orange. Allie gasped and heard others doing the same.

“Why did it do that?” Gillian cried.

Clay shifted her in his arms as if to comfort her. “The shadow can make the moon turn all kinds of colors, Captain. Blue, pink or orange, or so I've read.”

“Pink is better,” Gillian said as if she were capable of determining the color.

Allie could only stare at the vision.
That's my life, Lord. I had hopes of shining, but the darkness crept up on me. You've been leading me all along, and I have faith You'll make something this beautiful of my future.

“You know a lot of things, Uncle,” Gillian said, patting him on the shoulder as if he were a noble steed.

“Learned from books,” Clay promised her. “You'll know as much once you read more of them. In fact, you'll know more than I do, because new books are always being written.”

“I'm going to read them all,” Matt declared. “And I'll share them with you, Ms. Gillian.”

Gillian nodded as if she accepted his promise. But Allie stood arrested. Books! Of course! She could form the first subscription lending library. That's how she could contribute to the great city of Seattle. It was the perfect solution, giving her and Gillian a home, providing them with income. But achieving that dream would require an investment of funds she didn't have at her disposal.

She stared at Clay holding her daughter so gently. He'd said he funded ideas, helped people grow their businesses.

Would he be willing to invest in her?

* * *

Clay watched as the moon brightened.
That's my life, Lord, coming out of my father's shadow and into the light. I may not have stood so fixedly, but with Your help, I can. I hope You let me shine, for my sake and for Allie and Gillian's.

He glanced at Allie to find her gazing up at him with her head cocked, as if she were meeting him for the first time. He didn't have a chance to question her, for several of the other women requested that he repeat his explanation of the event they were seeing, and by the time he managed to extricate himself, Allie had taken Gillian from him and retired for the night.

She came to find him the next day. He was standing in the bow with Reynolds. Once again, nothing but the blue of ocean and sky surrounded them. He was heartily glad he'd taken the overland route when he'd headed west the first time. Though more challenging, it had had far more variety.

“Looking forward to going home, Reynolds?” he asked to make conversation.

“Indeed,” Reynolds replied with a smile as he leaned on his walking stick. “I'm quite partial to San Francisco.” He raised his voice as Allie approached them, her swinging skirts nearly as blue as the sky. “And I hope to convince some of our lovely ladies to stay there.”

Clay frowned. Funny. At times he was certain Reynolds held the ladies in disdain for leaving home. He couldn't imagine the man campaigning against Mercer for a chance to have them settle in his town instead.

“I hope for Seattle's sake you don't succeed, Mr. Reynolds,” Allie said with a nod of greeting to them both. “From what Mr. Howard said, I think we are more greatly needed there than in San Francisco if your home has grown so big already.”

“She's a shining city on a hill,” Mr. Reynolds proclaimed. “But a few more gems in her crown would not be remiss.” With a wink to her, he turned to stroll away, the clack of his stick against the wood fading with distance.

“So you're certain about Seattle,” Clay said, watching her.

Allie nodded. “And I have a proposal for you.”

A proposal? He knew she was determined to be her own woman, but surely she wouldn't propose marriage herself! He leaned against the railing, trying to still the rapid beating of his heart. What, was he the debutante now?

“Oh?” he managed to say, pleased he sounded so nonchalant.

She was hardly as calm. Her hands were knotting, and she shook them out even as she raised her head. He felt the deep breath she took before starting in.

“Mr. Mercer is bringing back a number of books donated for our use,” she rattled off as if afraid she might forget a word if she didn't hurry. “I'd like to purchase them and start a subscription lending library in Seattle. If you invest, I'll pay you half of all profits until I've made up the investment, and a quarter of the profits from then on.”

This was not what he'd hoped for, but he couldn't fault her thinking. Already the business side of him was tabulating likely costs, amortizing returns over a ten-year period. Still, he couldn't help teasing her. “You think we read in Seattle?”

Something fired in her eyes. “Some people must read,” she said with conviction. “And the people on this ship will only add to that number. With time, the subscriptions will grow.”

Clay nodded. “They might at that. And Mercer is so desperate for cash you could likely convince him to sell at an attractive price.” He straightened off the railing. “Bringing culture to the frontier. I like it. You have a deal, Allie.”

He stuck out his hand, and she accepted it with a firm shake. He couldn't seem to let go of that fragile connection. Perhaps it was the movement of the ship, but he felt as if he and Allie were being pulled together, their faces closing until her lips were mere inches from his own.

She pulled back, face flushed. “Thank you, Clay. I won't let you down.”

“You never could,” Clay assured her, trying to find his way back from wherever his heart had led him. Logic, business, making money, aiding progress. Why did she have to have such kissable lips?

She dropped her gaze, tucking a strand of hair back into the bun behind her head. “You didn't think so much of me once.”

“I've always been impressed with you,” he insisted. “I may not have made this clear, Allie, but I admire what you've done—raising Gillian, setting off on your own. I know how hard that can be.”

She glanced up. “Was it difficult for you, Clay? I was under the impression you couldn't wait to leave Boston.”

He shrugged. “I missed it, and Frank. And you.”

Her lips twitched as if she was fighting a smile. But the movement only drew his attention to her mouth again. He forced himself to gaze out at the ocean.

“Funny,” she said. “I would have thought you'd meet far more interesting women along the way.”

“None like you.” His voice was deepening with his feelings, and he cleared his throat so she wouldn't guess the reason. “I understand Captain Windsor intends to anchor off the Galápagos Islands in the next few days. Would you and Gillian like to go ashore and see them? I understand they're unusual.”

He returned his gaze to hers to find her smiling at him. “That would be wonderful. Thank you for offering.” She bobbed her head and hurried back down the deck as if she feared he'd ask her something far more personal. He intended to do just that, when the moment was right.

His opportunity came when they reached the Galápagos a few days later. The islands did not disappoint. The shore where the company from the
Continental
landed was dotted with rough black rocks, the beaches covered with sand so white it reflected the sun. Beyond the beach lay hills tufted with waving grasses and strange twisted trees like the cactuses Clay had seen on his way west. Rising from the center was a massive volcano, its peak obscured by clouds.

Several of the women stayed closer to the landing spot, but Clay wanted to explore. He led Gillian and Allie along the shore, gulls and terns calling overhead, until they found a private little cove with sands whiter than snow and shallow water nearly as blue as Allie's eyes.

Gillian promptly began hunting for shells, while Allie perched on a black rock, spreading her blue skirts about her like the petals of a flower. Clay stood beside her. He knew his gaze should be on the little girl, but somehow he couldn't make himself look away from Allie. Her profile was serene, her concentration unwavering. She might have been a statue, except no statue had ever made his heart beat so quickly.

It was now or never.

“Allie,” he said. “I've wanted to talk to you. These last few weeks aboard ship have made me think.”

She laughed, a sound as soft as the waves against the shore. “I find it hard to believe that was the first time you thought, sir.”

“I hope not,” Clay agreed with an answering smile. Why was this so hard? The last time he'd asked her to marry him, he'd been calm, in control, sure of what he wanted.

Of course, the last time she'd refused. Small wonder his palms were damp. He rubbed his hands along the gray of his trousers.