Scarlet Butterfly (13 page)

“Carolina?”

There was no answer and the shape seemed to absorb into itself and disappear. But the faint smell of tobacco that always lingered around the ship was stronger. This time Rogan decided to check it out.

Quietly he slipped off the ship and down the gangplank to shore. In the shadows, he stopped and waited. But there were no sounds to indicate an intruder, and the tobacco smell was too faint to follow. As always, it seemed to center on the
Butterfly
. Rogan had never worried about himself, but Carolina was under his protection now. Nothing, he vowed, was going to happen to her.

He’d bought a cookbook to satisfy that part of their arrangement, and the ship’s restoration was almost finished. As soon as the portrait of the schooner was done, he’d find a place for Carolina in town, perhaps at the inn. That way, if they decided to do so, they could continue to see each other.

Ida could take care of her.

Carolina needed taking care of.

Sean flexed his fingers. The tips still tingled with coolness, a residual effect of the lotion he’d rubbed on Carolina’s body.

Carolina.

It was all he could do to stop himself from going below to check on her again.

As Rogan slept, the ship rocked on the water. Carolina dreamed.

And the curious shadow that was neither man nor spirit glided forth along the deck, like a sentry on watch. Thoughts leaped out of the void and voiced
themselves in his mind as he paced the old, familiar deck.

Heaven above, how can I be here? Why am I here? Carolina is falling in love with this man. And I can’t stop her
.

Jacob felt a great sense of urgency. He didn’t know why, but he knew that he didn’t have much time.

The next morning Carolina could hardly walk. Though she was still sore, the sunburn had already begun to fade. But clothes? She couldn’t abide the thought. Instead, she slid into another of Rogan’s T-shirts, a dark green one that came to mid-thigh. Climbing the stairs, she felt a slight tingle in her hand, the kind of sensation that once signaled the approach of a dreaded seizure. But it soon stopped and she forgot about it as she heard the sound of hammering.

With a vengeance, Rogan was nailing planks in the hole on deck. He didn’t know she was watching, though she noticed his glancing across at the opposite shore and back. There was something primitive about this man, something elemental that stirred her as deeply as the woman for whom she’d been named must have responded to Jacob.

Suddenly Rogan stood and whirled around. He caught sight of her and snapped, “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“I’m sorry. You were making so much noise that I didn’t think you’d hear me.”

Then he looked concerned. “I’m sorry, did I wake you? I’m so used to being the only one here that I
didn’t think. At least I was until last night; now I’m not sure.”

“You mean there’s someone else here?”

“No,… well, maybe. I mean I can’t see him, but I feel him. He’s watching me, the bas—” He cut himself off, caught by the sight of her—hair disheveled, looking like a child who’d just come from her bath, all scrubbed and pink. “How is your sunburn?”

“It’s much better, thanks to your help. You must have used the entire bottle of medicine.”

His head jerked up in surprise. There’d been half the bottle left when he’d gone to bed. “But I didn’t—” He stopped. If there were some kinky bastard slinking around applying lotion to sleeping women, he didn’t need to alarm Carolina. Instead he inspected her, examining her with as medical an expression as he could muster, considering that all he could see was the lovely body his shirt was hugging.

She didn’t flinch. The woman was entirely too trusting. He let out a long breath. “Well, it does seem to have worked. You aren’t nearly so red as I expected you to be. Maybe I’ll put on more lotion. Bring the bottle to the galley.”

“But it wasn’t on the table by my bed when I woke. Didn’t you do something with it?”

“No, I left it there.”

They stared at each other for a puzzled moment. “Well, it’s probably on the floor somewhere. After I make breakfast I’ll look.” She turned toward the galley.

“Ah, Carolina, I bought you a cookbook,” Rogan called out. “It’s on the table.”

“Thanks.” Carolina tried to appreciate his thoughtfulness,
but all she could think about was the fact that one condition of her staying was that she learn to cook. He was trying to hasten that. She leafed through the pages of the book, read the complicated gourmet recipes, and smiled. She might learn to cook, but not from this book, and not right away. Rogan was putting out a mixed message. She wondered if he was fooling himself, and decided that it didn’t matter.

Carolina hummed softly as she peeled the peaches on the counter, then located a box of flake cereal and bowls. She tried to copy Rogan’s making of the coffee. Once it finished perking, she sampled the hot liquid and decided that it was a little strong, but close enough.

“Rogan, come and eat.”

At a water barrel outside the galley, Rogan washed his face and hands, slinging the water across the deck as the sun dried his skin. He’d thought about Carolina all the time he was working, chastising himself for making love to her. Even if her overbearing father had convinced her that she was unappealing, Rogan had no right to touch her. Loving her tied her to him more closely, and he knew about women and their nesting instincts.

He’d just about persuaded himself to treat her as a boarder, an employee, a deckhand, when he stepped into the galley and caught sight of her leaning down to take the milk from the refrigerator. Deckhands didn’t borrow his T-shirts, and they certainly didn’t show their bare bottoms to the boss.

“Goldilocks,” he said in a voice that was much too gravelly. “I think we’d better invest in some fashionable long dresses for you.”

“Long dresses?” She closed the refrigerator door and turned, placing the milk on the table.

“Yes, with high necklines and long sleeves.”

“Why, Captain.” She smiled and took two steps that brought her to him. “Why would you want to do that?” She couldn’t let that strained expression remain on his face. The day was too beautiful. He was too beautiful. She put her arms around his neck and reached up to kiss him.

Sean turned his head so that all she found was his cheek. “So I won’t—you won’t—get sunburned.” He unclasped her hands and slid past her. Taking his seat on the bench, he turned enthusiastically to the food.

“More peaches?”

“Yes, they were here on the counter. I thought you must have seen Harry again this morning.”

“Nobody has been here except the two of us. Though last night I did think I might have seen—Never mind. I’m going to have another look along the shore. If somebody is spying on us, he’s probably just curious about a woman on board.”

“Shore?” Her face became even more flushed. “Do you think he was watching yesterday when we—when I was sleeping on deck after we—after you left?”

“You fell asleep? That makes more sense. I was afraid you were one of those foolish women trying to get a tan, until I realized you were blistered on only one side.”

“I haven’t thanked you for putting me to bed and taking care of me. That’s becoming a habit.”

Sean frowned at Carolina. “That’s the second time you’ve said something about me helping you. I didn’t.”

“Of course you did. That first day I was walking down the road and I grew very dizzy. Suddenly there you were, in your captain’s clothes and cap. You carried me back to the
Butterfly
and put me to bed.”

“Carolina, the first time I laid eyes on you was when I walked into my cabin and found you under my sheet.”

“But that can’t be. You comforted me and told me you’d take care of me. I felt you. I heard you.”

“You were just weak and confused.”

Carolina stood, eyes wide, her breath coming fast and shallow. “Sean Rogan, I’ve been weak and confused for a long time. But not about you, not about being here. I know that I passed out, but I saw you. I felt the rough texture of your coat against my cheek. I smelled your pipe tobacco, so you can quit sneaking around smoking.”

“Rough texture of my coat, in all this heat?”

“Yes, I did—at least I thought I did.”

“And did you see me lift you from the deck and put you to bed yesterday too?”

“Yes … well, no. I think I walked. Then later my eyes were closed. I mean my lids were swollen, and I couldn’t open them. But I felt you and smelled you and heard your voice. It was you, Rogan. And you can stop playing games with me!”

He started to say that she’d been dreaming, but it wouldn’t have satisfied her; that he didn’t smoke, but he’d smelled the tobacco too. Whatever the answer was, she really believed that he’d brought her on board and cared for her. And for a moment, Rogan wished it were so.

Still, she did get on board, which left two possibilities. Either Carolina was the one who was playing
games, or there was someone else on board. There were too many unexplained happenings: the tobacco, the lotion, even the peaches that appeared mysteriously.

“Perhaps you’re right, Carolina. I’ll search again.”

Rogan left the galley and made his way down the ramp to the dock and into the trees, where he forced himself to stop and listen. There were no sounds indicating that either the woodland creatures or the marsh animals were being disturbed. After letting out a deep breath, he began to look around.

Only his footprints and Carolina’s were visible, but that was to be expected. Undaunted, he crept into the brush, moving quietly, studying, examining, determined to find physical evidence of the presence he’d sensed for several days.

On board the
Butterfly
, Carolina put away the breakfast things. The sun was trying to climb above the tree line, but it seemed caught in the limbs of the pines so that piercing arrows of gold penetrated their foliage.

Carolina gathered up the painting supplies that Rogan had bought for her and made her way on deck. She found a spot overlooking the lake where she could see the river. She sat in the shadows, with her canvas in the sunlight. First she’d select and paint the site, then she’d move onto the bank and sketch in the ship.

Now and then she heard Rogan—or at least she hoped it was Rogan—moving around the small lake. At one point she watched him swim across the river and pull himself from the water on the other side.

But she soon lost herself in her drawing. And to her surprise she found she didn’t need to move to
shore to see the lines of the
Butterfly
. The sketch was rough, but it was good. A feeling of confidence surged through her as she tried to capture all her feelings for the ship. At first just a phantom, it soon took shape and form.

Finally she leaned back and studied her effort. The
Scarlet Butterfly
’s canvases were unfurled, caught by the wind as it skimmed along the water. Its graceful bow lifted in flight.

“There’s something wrong.”

Rogan was back. She studied her drawing. What’s wrong?

“It’s the figurehead, lass. The carving of the
Scarlet Butterfly
is missing from her bow.”

She hadn’t heard him come on board, but her senses recognized him, and his deep voice confirmed it. He wasn’t angry anymore. And he was right. There should have been a figurehead. She turned, her face filled with joy. But no one was there.

For a long moment she waited, feeling his presence, yet not seeing. And as she watched, she began to see. Little by little a shadow materialized, becoming more solid, more real, more recognizable. The blue coat. The captain’s cap. The pipe. Was her mind playing tricks on her? No. She knew this man. She’d felt him, visualized him, and dreamed about him. Now she understood. He was smiling at her, but his lips were drawn with sadness, his eyes confused and filled with pain.

“You’re Jacob Rogan, aren’t you?” she whispered.

“You can see me?”

“Yes, I can see you. I think I’ve seen you all along.”

“I suspicioned so. And you’re Carrie, but you’re not.”

“No, I’m Carrie’s descendent. Are you real?”

“I’m not certain. Suddenly I was here and you were swooning in my arms. Since then I cannot seem to go back to wherever I was—or perhaps I’ve been here all along.”

“You can talk to me?’

“So it seems.”

“But not to Rogan.”

“No, I think not—at least, not yet.”

Carolina closed her eyes. She’d been warned that radiation could damage the body, that the resulting memories, and even behavior, could be distorted. But nobody had warned her about this kind of thing. It was so real; Jacob seemed as real as Rogan.

Rogan! Surely he could see Jacob. Then he’d know that she wasn’t dreaming or imagining things. “Rogan!” she called out, rushing to the side of the boat where she’d last seen him. “Rogan!” she called more urgently, “Come back, please!”

“Carolina?” Rogan’s anxious voice answered from the woods across the lake. “Are you all right?”

“Yes! Hurry!”

Moments later Rogan was climbing over the side and striding to meet Carolina. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Rogan, you were right. There was someone here, but not what you thought. Come, you must see for yourself.” She tugged him back to the spot where she’d set up her painting, a frantic expression on her face. “Look!”

But there was no one there.

“He’s gone. He was here, Rogan.”

Rogan looked around. He saw nobody; nor could anyone have escaped without Sean having seen him,
for he’d had his eye on the ship from the moment Carolina had called out.

“Who, Carolina? Who did you think you saw?”

“I saw—” Then she stopped. If he’d thought she was hallucinating before, he’d likely think she’d gone over the edge if she told him now that she’d seen a ghost. “I was sketching when I saw him. As clear as day, I saw him on the deck of this schooner. He told me about the missing figurehead.” She could see the skepticism dawning in Rogan’s eyes. “I did, Rogan—at least I thought I did.”

“ ‘He’ who?”

“Well, don’t laugh, but do you think that what we’ve been seeing might be a ghost? Do you think it’s possible that Jacob stayed here on his ship?”