Ship of Dreams (24 page)

"But ... ships
do
go down sometimes," one woman pointed out shakily. "Mightn't this be one of those times?"

Billy spoke up. "If it is, we'll go down singing! Worrying won't change things, so let's put it aside until the captain himself tells us to worry, eh? I spoke with him an hour ago, and he was perfectly cheerful. As he's promised to go down if the ship does, he'd hardly be so if he thought we were likely to sink!"

His breezy manner seemed to soothe the others as Monson's sober assurances had not. The fear fading from their eyes, the passengers dispersed.

"Is the captain really so confident as you say?" Kent asked the two men in an undertone once every woman but Della was out of earshot. She took it as a compliment that he did not attempt to shield her from the truth.

"He certainly seems so," said Monson. "And while I've not personally experienced a storm at sea quite so severe, certainly many ships have weathered them intact."

Della wondered that she could ever have been afraid of this man. Right now she wanted to hug him for the confidence he exuded.

As they stood speaking, Captain Herndon himself entered the saloon. At once he was bombarded with questions, but he responded just as Billy had reported. "I've a good crew and a good ship. Keep up your spirits, and we'll come through for you."

He hurried away then, but everyone seemed much cheered. Della, however, noticed how tired the captain looked. Had he slept since the storm first blew up? She rather doubted it.

Ansel Easton had emerged from his stateroom while the captain was speaking, and now he looked after him darkly. "Have I not been saying all along that a ship with a changed name will be dogged by ill-luck?"

But Billy clapped him on the back. "Come now, Easton, we haven't gone down yet!"

"We haven't reached New York yet," he replied. Then, noticing Della in the group, he shook off his unaccustomed grimness and smiled. "But no doubt the captain is right. Certainly he has had far more experience at this sort of thing than I have."

Della refrained from telling him that he need not dissemble for her sake, instead asking, "How is Addie this morning?"

"Horribly seasick," he replied, worry once more coloring his voice. "I've only ventured out to fetch her some tea in hopes of settling her stomach somewhat."

"Poor thing! Would she appreciate a visit, do you think?"

He hesitated, then shook his head. "She'd have my head if I allowed anyone to see her as she is just now. But perhaps later. I'll let you know—and thank you." He hurried after the stewardess to procure the required beverage.

Kent smiled down at Della. "That was kind of you."

She looked up in surprise. "Why, it's nothing to the kindness Addie has shown me since leaving San Francisco—even though she knew nothing of me at all when we sailed. I only hope she'll allow me to be of some service to her if she continues ill."

Kent merely shook his head, leaving Della to wonder how he could love her as he said if such a minor show of sympathy surprised him. Perhaps it was simply that most women of his acquaintance would not have responded so, but still she wondered.

Della had thought that the weather could not get worse without sinking the ship, but as that Thursday progressed, so did the hurricane—as even the crew was now calling it. The storm was all anyone spoke of, and it was clear that for all the brave front the captain, crew and other gentlemen aboard put on, everyone realized that the ship was in very real danger.

Steerage passengers now outnumbered first- and second-cabin passengers in the dining saloon, as many had come there to escape the stench of seasickness below. With all but a handful of the wealthier passengers holed up in their staterooms, no one protested their presence there.

Though even she now felt the occasional twinge of nausea, Della tried to occupy her thoughts by befriending some of these poor, frightened souls—especially the children. Just as the men tried to keep up the spirits of the women, so she and the other women tried to distract the children from the danger. They told stories and played games, and when the meager evening meal was brought out, made sport of trying to eat while the tables tilted back and forth.

As darkness fell, the creaking of the hull seemed to grow louder still. Several first- and second-class passengers ventured out to learn what news there might be, and to escape the close quarters of their staterooms. A few had no choice—seawater from the main deck had spilled into their staterooms, making them uninhabitable. These stretched themselves on the sofas in the saloon, complaining bitterly.

The gentlemen made no pretense of playing cards this evening. All anyone could talk of was the storm and their chances of surviving it.

"I fear, as bad as it is now, we have not yet seen the worst," Della overheard Thomas Badger, a former ship's captain himself, saying to one of the engineers. To her dismay, the other man agreed.

"If we can keep the boilers lit, we may ride it out yet," the engineer said, "but if we develop a leak, I fear we may be lost."

"Is there any sign of one?" asked Captain Badger, in a voice Della had to strain to hear.

The engineer's only response was a tightening of his lips, then, finally, a quick shake of his head.

Della debated whether to tell Kent of the exchange, but decided against it. If this was to be their last night together—their last night alive—she didn't want either of them to spend it in fear.

"What I can't affect, I won't worry about," she murmured to herself. "But my own outlook is under my control." Taking a deep breath of the humid, fetid air of the saloon, she went to find her husband.

She found him in concerned conversation with Judge Monson. They were just saying something about signal rockets when Kent caught sight of her and turned. "Ah, there you are, my dear. Are most of the children gone to their beds?" The warmth in his eyes buoyed her spirits.

"I believe so. One poor woman from Lima is traveling with three little ones, and speaks almost no English. Thankfully, I was able to calm them all—for the moment, at least."

Judge Monson bowed to her respectfully, murmuring something about her charity, then left them alone.

"So your Spanish has paid off once again," said Kent when he had gone. "It appears to be far more useful than the Latin and Greek I learned in school."

Though she suspected he spoke of such things merely to distract her—and perhaps himself as well—she answered in kind. "That's me, practical rather than classical. Though my mother did teach both my sister and me a smattering of Latin, and threw every book she could get her hands on our way."

Kent's eyebrows rose. "No wonder you appear unusually educated for your circumstances."

"So you think I can convince the society crowd that I'm not just an ignorant Irish prospector's brat after all?" She tried to speak lightly, but knew some of her irritation showed in her voice.

He realized his error at once. "I never said—I didn't mean—"

"No, I know you didn't. I'm just overly sensitive, I suppose." She linked her arm through his. "Come, it's late. We may as well attempt to sleep, as there's no knowing what tomorrow may bring."

Or whether we'll see tomorrow at all
, she added silently.

*
           
*
           
*

Though Della spoke cheerfully, Kent could see the worry in her eyes. He felt it too, but saw no more point than she did in speaking of it. What would come, would come. For now, they still had each other. Bidding the others good night, he accompanied her to their stateroom.

The air there was close, but still fresher than that of the saloon, now that so many people had gathered there. Closing the door quickly behind them, he breathed deeply to clear the stink from his nostrils. Then he smiled across at Della, who had braced herself between wall and bunk to remove her shoes.

Today had shown him another side of her, a compassionate, giving side, that he found he admired greatly. Though he himself had always given generously to charities, he had done so because it was expected of a man in his position, not out of tender feelings for his less fortunate brethren. Della really cared. It was yet another example of how she embraced life while he had only gone through the motions of living.

"What?" she asked, and he realized he had been staring.

He shook his head. "I was only marveling that you can still look so beautiful after a day like today."

She laughed. "Beautiful? With my dress a crumpled mess and my hair all undone? I probably have dirt on my face, as well." She made a movement toward the mirror to check.

"Only a smudge on your nose. I find it rather charming," he said with a grin. "Come here, Della."

The mirror forgotten, she turned toward him, her green eyes alight with an emotion that both humbled and aroused him. What had he ever done to deserve such a woman? He closed the gap between them with one long stride and lowered his lips to hers.

She seemed as eager as he, willingly parting her lips for him as she slid her arms up his back. With an urgency borne of the danger facing them, the knowledge that this might be their last night together, he deepened his kiss, skimming his hands along her body. Frustrated by the layers of clothing, he began unbuttoning her gown, while at the same time she worked on his shirt.

In a moment they were both bare to the waist, savoring each other with hands and lips. Della ducked her head to touch one of his flat, hard nipples with her tongue, and he shuddered with pleasure before returning the favor. Lingeringly, he kissed first one firm breast, then the other, drawing the nipple into his mouth and gently suckling. Clutching his shoulders, Della threw back her head and inhaled deeply.

Suddenly, his trousers seemed far too tight. Still suckling, he unfastened them. Just as he had worked them to his knees, however, the ship pitched. Hampered as he was, Kent lost his balance and fell to the carpet in an ungainly heap. Della tried to catch herself by grabbing the middle berth, but after a swaying scramble, she lost her purchase and landed right on top of him.

For a moment, they lay in startled silence, but then Della began to chuckle. Kent joined in, and in a moment they were both gasping with laughter that held an edge of hysteria, likely due to the sudden release of the tension they'd been under all day.

"Why don't we just stay here?" Kent suggested when he could speak again. "I'd hate to be pitched out of the bunk right in the, er, thick of things."

"My thoughts exactly." Rising to her knees, Della pulled his trousers the rest of the way off, then proceeded to unfasten her skirt. "I don't know why we didn't think of this before. The carpet is far more spacious than the bed." With a wicked twinkle in her eye, she kicked her skirt and pantalettes to one side, and climbed astride him.

Startled, but pleasantly so, Kent grinned up at her. "Do you mean to have your way with me, young lady?"

She nodded. "What do you intend to do about it?" As she spoke, she leaned down to brush her breasts tantalizingly across his chest.

Kent put his arms behind his head. "I throw myself on your mercy."

"No mercy," she replied with a grin, before fastening her mouth on his. She moved above him, sliding her body along his, stimulating every nerve he possessed to a fever pitch. Finally, just when he thought he could bear no more, she settled her hips against his, allowing his eager shaft access to her waiting depths, moist and ready to receive him.

With a groan, he lifted his own hips to drive himself deeper, at the same time grasping her by the waist. Again the ship rocked violently, but this time the motion only served to intensify their pleasure, plunging him yet further inside her. He pulled her face down to his for another kiss.

Now Della began to move again, easing him out and back into her in a rhythm as old as humanity itself. Kent ran his hands up and down her back, and then around to her belly, her breasts, the sensitive nubbin at the place of their joining. As he plied his thumb, she began to moan, rocking faster, pulling his tongue into her mouth to massage it with her own.

Then she broke the kiss and straightened, arching her back and lifting her face to the ceiling, her hair streaming down her back, as she climaxed. Her tightening drove him over the edge. Driving upward once, twice, three times, he shattered within her with an impassioned cry.

She collapsed atop him, pressing her cheek to his, relaxing by degrees as her heartbeat slowed along with his. "It's just as well the hurricane is so noisy," she commented after a moment. "We might have embarrassed our neighbors otherwise."

He rolled to one side so that she lay beside him on the carpet. "Trust you to find a silver lining even for these dark clouds." He loved her more than ever—more than he'd imagined it was possible for anyone to love another. "But you are my silver lining, Della. Because of you, I'm happier than I've ever been, even knowing ..."

"Even knowing we may have only hours to live," she finished for him. Her eyes reflected no fear, however—only love.

Reluctantly, he nodded. "I can think of no other way I would choose to spend my last moments."

"Nor I. Thank you for marrying me, Kent."