Tide and Tempest (Edge of Freedom Book #3) (6 page)

He turned. This time when he looked at her, his gray eyes gleamed an almost steely blue. “You be thinking of moving? Of leaving the city?”

“Not leaving, exactly. The house is located in the Lower East Side, near the church.”

“Have you been to see it?”

It had seemed too bold, too presumptuous to visit. “Not yet.”

“But you’ve considered purchasing it.”

His questions were too direct, and they reminded her of her parents. She stiffened her spine and glared at him. “May I ask why it matters to you?”

Her retort only served to sharpen the intensity of his gaze. He closed the gap between them, and though he towered over her, she refused to step back, despite the shaking of her knees.

Thankfully, when next he spoke, his voice and his manner were gentle. “I pray you forgive my impertinence. Truly I mean no disrespect, but I must know. Miss McGrath . . . are you betrothed?”

The moment he’d asked the question, Morgan wanted to bite off his tongue. Tillie looked angry enough to slap him, and well she should. He wasn’t her suitor, nor kin with familial responsibilities to uphold. Yet the query hung in the air between them unanswered.

Confusion clouded her brow. “Betrothed? Why on earth would you ask such a question?”

The obvious answer was that he was concerned for her welfare. The truth went much deeper.

Her attention drifted to the flyer with the picture of the house for sale in the window. “Oh, you thought . . .”

Embarrassment burned his face and neck. None of this was going as he’d planned. How in blazes had he let the situation get so complicated? Bunching his fists, he retreated a step. “I beg your pardon. ’Tis none of my concern. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it was a fair assumption.” She frowned and bit one side of her lip, as though she wanted to say more but didn’t. Finally, she motioned toward the sidewalk. “Shall we go on?”

Surprised she’d even consider allowing him to stay, he nodded and swung into step beside her. “I suppose now that we
have the awkward questions out of the way . . .” At her quiet laugh, he went on. “Will you tell me why you’re interested in that old house? It’s far too large for a single woman living alone.”

A shy smile flitted across her lips. “Aye, I suppose you’re right. Then again, my plans aren’t to live there alone.”

Surprisingly, her remark birthed resistance in his gut.

She cast a searching glance at him. “May I ask
you
a question?”

Given that he’d made such a muddle of things, how could he say no? He motioned for her to continue.

“Have you never thought about giving up the seafaring life and settling down?”

His steps faltered. Give up the
Caitriona
Marie
? He cleared his throat. “My ship is essential to my family’s livelihood, that much is certain, but—”

“But?”

Instantly he was transported back in time, and it was Moira who asked the question.

“Have ya never thought of
settling down?”

His answer that day had broken both their hearts.

“Captain Morgan?”

He blinked. They had come to a stop on the sidewalk, and irritated gentlemen steered their ladies around them on either side. Just a few yards away, the land office with Tillie’s dream pasted to the window beckoned.

“Aye, I thought about it once,” he said. “Even dreamed of marrying my childhood sweetheart and raising a passel of bairns.”

Sorrow darkened her eyes. “Why didn’t you?”

He grimaced. “Life interfered.”

She nodded. “It has a way of doing that.”

Aye, for she was one to testify to that fact, thanks to him.

The crowds had thinned with the onset of evening. What carts remained to pack the streets were pitifully low on supplies. It amazed him how so much business was conducted in so little time. Very different from life aboard the
Caitriona Marie
, where days could fade into weeks when the wind and sailing were slow.

Next to him, Tillie lifted her face to catch the last few rays of sunlight seeping over the rooftops. The orange glow brought out the burnished highlights in her hair and made her skin shine with health and innocence.

So sweet.

Just like that she’d put her worries and outrage behind her to find pleasure in the day. Did he have any right to take that from her? What reason could he give to fill her life with pain and anguish anew?

“You never told me,” he said, drawing her eyes back to him, “what it is about that advertisement that fascinates you so.”

He pointed at the land office, then offered his arm so they could continue on their way.

“The advertisement for the house says ’tis vacant now, but it shouldn’t be. I imagine it filled with children and laughter.”

Her children?

She blushed and averted her eyes. Aye, and hadn’t he had similar dreams once, before Da died and the responsibility for providing for the family fell to him?

“I see,” he said, and he did.

A gentle breeze wafted over them, sweeping the last vestiges of doubt from Morgan’s mind. Tillie McGrath deserved to live out her days free from the torment of knowing that her lover had been murdered and never, ever knowing why. Perhaps she’d even find happiness, and if buying that old house and filling its many rooms could give her that, mayhap he would find peace, as well.

But not until he knew the truth. Not until he knew who had ordered Braedon McKillop’s death and why.

And whether or not Tillie would be safe.

Like it or not, he’d never be free of his obligation to her unless he knew for certain that whoever had claimed McKillop’s life wasn’t after hers, as well. But to uncover that, he’d need help.

He needed Cass.

His mind made up, he deposited Tillie at the church and then made the long trek back to the wharf at a rapid pace. Cass was working alongside the rest of the crew on the deck, his chest bare and red from the heat of the day. Morgan motioned to him from the dock.

“Fetch a shirt,” he yelled, cupping one hand to his mouth. “You’re going to need it.”

“Where we going?” Cass asked once he’d dressed and scrambled down the side of the ship onto the dock. As they walked, he tucked the tails of his shirt into the waistband of his trousers.

“Someplace where we can talk.”

“You’ve never been afraid to talk aboard the
Marie
before.”

No, and he’d never had to worry about who heard, either. That he did now set him on edge. He motioned to a pub down the street, whose door swung open and closed with patrons entering and exiting.

“Hungry?”

“Always,” Cass said, “but especially after unloading crates all day.”

Inside the pub, loud music and voices made conversation difficult. They wound past the crowded tables to a secluded corner. Once they were seated, and their orders of roast-beef sandwiches taken, Cass dragged his cap from his head and motioned to Morgan.

“You going to tell me what happened today or aren’t you?”

He did, beginning with the first time he’d laid eyes on Tillie McGrath, and ending with their visit earlier that day. “She’s alone, Cass, and whether she knows it or not, my allowing her in to see McKillop before he died may have put her in danger.”

By now, the food had arrived but still sat untouched on their plates. Cass picked absently at a wilted piece of lettuce before lifting his head to look Morgan in the eye.

“Well?” Morgan said. “What do you think?”

Cass sighed. “I think you’re right. We owe it to this girl to try and found out who Doc was working for. But you should know I have no intention of letting you do this on your own.”

Morgan hid a grin. So accustomed was he to looking after his younger brother, it was quite amusing to be on the other end—and if he were honest, a trifle humbling. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice so only Cass could hear. “I have no intention of trying. But we’re going to need to stay in New York longer than we’d planned. Do you think you can arrange it?”

Cass hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Aye, should be simple enough. The off-load’s been a touch tricky this time around, anyway. I think I can delay it a couple more days.”

“And the repairs to the bilge,” Morgan said. “I’ll go ahead and order them in the next day or two. That should give us at least a week without raising any suspicions.”

Cass matched Morgan’s whisper. “Mind if I ask whose suspicions you’re worried about raising?”

Morgan’s thoughts turned quickly to Donal. He didn’t fully trust the man, but that wasn’t enough to accuse him. He picked at the rim of his cup with his nail and said, “I’m being cautious is all. I thought I could trust Doc, and we saw how that turned out. No, ’tis better if we hold our cards
close, at least until we understand what it is we be dealing
with.”

Cass agreed with a slow nod. “Right. So? After we get the repairs ordered, then what? Have you given any thought as to how we should proceed with the girl?”

“I dinna know, Cass. This entire business sets me flesh to crawling, like something terrible may be coming.”

Cass shifted in his chair. “What do you mean?”

Morgan paused. How to explain the roiling in his gut that had started the day Doc told him about what he’d done and had continued to grow ever since? He shoved his cup back and laced both hands. “What was it about McKillop that made someone want to kill him? Have you thought of that?” By his blank expression, Morgan knew he had not. In fact, the notion had only just occurred to him. “I mean, if a man were willing to go to all that trouble to hire someone and then keep it a secret . . .”

Cass’s eyes grew rounder as he spoke. “Are you saying you don’t want to go through with finding out who done it?”

Morgan shook his head. That part had been determined the moment Doc breathed his last, but involving his brother, only now did it occur to him how dangerous that could prove, too.

“You’re my brother, Cass. Hard as I am on you, I dinna desire that any harm should befall you.”

“Aye, and you’re mine. So what are we going to do?” He didn’t even blink as he made the matter-of-fact reply. Indeed, renewed determination carved lines about his eyes and mouth. “Well?”

“I’ll see about renting a room at the boardinghouse where Miss McGrath lives,” Morgan said, swallowing a swell of pride at his brother’s courage. “I think ’twould be easier to keep an eye on her, make sure she’s in no danger whilst we be about asking our questions.”

“I agree. What about the men?”

“Do what you can to set their minds to rest. And give them a couple of days’ shore leave. Tell them ’tis because we’ll be setting sail soon, and they’re to see about their business while we make ready.”

“Done. Except . . .” He hesitated, his throat working.

“What?” Morgan asked.

“I think we should leave the off-load to Bozey. You could use an extra man at the boardinghouse to keep an eye on things when you aren’t around. Think on it. If this lass is in as much danger as you say, it might not be wise leaving her on her own, especially with you going around stirring up trouble by asking questions.”

Fie
.

Much as he hated to admit it, Cass was right. He couldn’t be in two places at once, and if he held off on telling Miss McGrath the truth, then he had to do something to make sure she was safe.

He took a swallow from his mug and then gave a curt nod. “Fine. We’ll swing by the boardinghouse in the morning and speak to the owner. But remember”—he tossed a wary glance around the pub, at the mass of strange faces peering back—“keep quiet about all this to the men.”

Cass snorted. “One of these days, you’re going to realize I stopped being a bairn a long time ago.”

True enough, Morgan thought as he watched Cass rise and stride from the pub, his broad shoulders clearing a path to the door. Until then, he was concerned with one thing only, and that was making sure his little brother met with no harm.

Tillie took her time rising the next morning, even though the bright sun streaming through her bedroom window teased her eyelids and coaxed her toward wakefulness. Stretching her arms over her head, she reveled in the promise brought by the new day.

Her eyes snapped open. Aye, ’twas a promise, for both Sister Mary and Sister Agnes had bestowed a blessing upon her plans once she’d told them of her desire to open an orphanage.

“To think,” Sister Mary had said, tears springing to her eyes, “all them bairns will have a place to call home. Ach, ’twould be a blessing to us all, and no doubt.”

“Don’t you go worrying about how it will affect us,” Sister Agnes had added. “We’ll get along, sure enough. Always have.”

Sighing, Tillie slipped from her bed and hurried to wash and dress. Before she went downstairs, however, she paused to slide Braedon’s ring from its leather hiding place and pressed a kiss to it. “I know you’d be proud, me sweet lad,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I know it.”

Surprisingly, Braedon’s name didn’t bring a wash of tears as it had in the past. Instead she moved with a new lightness
down the stairs. At the bottom, the scent of bacon and freshly baked bread drew her to the dining room—that and the hum of male voices. Visitors at this hour? She peeked into the room.

Amelia sat at the head of the table, the morning papers ironed, folded, and laid neatly at her elbow. Across from her, Meg, the only other resident of the boardinghouse, stood at the ornately carved sideboard, a plate in her hands and a smile upon her lips for the gentleman pouring a cup of coffee to her left.

Tillie stifled a gasp, for though he wasn’t nearly as striking as Captain Morgan, they so closely resembled each other that she had to look twice to realize it wasn’t him.

Meg’s lashes swept down at something the tall stranger said, and her cheeks flushed red.

Across the way, Amelia motioned. “Tillie, come in, dear, and have some breakfast.”

At this, all eyes turned in her direction, including the stranger’s and the captain’s, whom she’d first thought the man to be.

Captain Morgan stood from a place near the end of the table, next to the seat she normally occupied. “Miss McGrath.”

“Captain.”

Her attention shifted to Amelia, who rose at her entrance and gestured to the men. “Tillie, come in and meet our guests. Captain Morgan you know, but this is his brother.”

The stranger rounded the table to stand before her and dip in a gallant bow. “Cass Morgan, at your service.”

Captain Morgan had a brother? Her head swimming, Tillie returned the nod. “A pleasure.”

Rather than respond, he shot a most quizzical glance at his brother, who merely looked away.

At that moment, Laverne bustled in, a platter of scrambled eggs in one hand and crisp, fried bacon and sausage in the
other. “Here we are. All ready. Can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to cook for a houseful again.”

To Tillie’s shock, Laverne sent a wink flying at Cass as she deposited the food onto the sideboard, then bustled back to the kitchen after a bowl of jam.

As though he’d been doing it all his life, Captain Morgan pulled out her chair and waited to seat her in it. While taking the chair, Tillie set her jaw and peered at Amelia, as if by staring she could somehow read the thoughts swirling inside her graying head.

“Toast?”

She blinked and turned her attention to the plate Captain Morgan extended. “Aye, thank you.”

Somehow she managed to keep her voice light, but her mind whirled. What was the captain doing here, and with his brother no less?

She lifted a slice of toast and laid it on a small bread plate next to her tea. ’Twas slim repast, but anxious as she was to speak to Amelia, it seemed ample. She waited impatiently as the rest of the meal was served and grace said before gulping her tea and motioning for Amelia to join her in the hallway.

“All right then,” she said, sliding the dining room door closed, “what exactly be going on here this morning? Gentlemen at the breakfast table? I’m beginning to think I’ve lost my mind.”

Amelia lifted her chin, and though she kept her tone bright, lines of tension formed around her mouth and eyes and around her clasped fingers. She shrugged. “What on earth do you mean, dear?”

Tillie noted Amelia’s white knuckles. There, at least, was evidence of her true state. She pressed her hand to Amelia’s. “I know something is wrong. Will you tell me? Please?”

Seconds ticked by, marked by the old grandfather clock
Amelia had brought with her from England. Finally she breathed a sigh, which seemed to let the air out not only from her lungs but from her spine and shoulders. “You know we’ve been experiencing a bit of trouble recently, what with so many of our rooms empty.”

She nodded. “Aye.”

Amelia continued, “I didn’t want to worry you or Meg, but since Cara left, and then Ana and Breda, running the boardinghouse has gotten much harder.”

Tillie’s thoughts winged to Giles and Laverne. The boardinghouse was their livelihood. “I’ll speak to Sister Agnes and Sister Mary again. Perhaps they can suggest something.”

Amelia shook her head. “Actually, another solution has presented itself, which I think will suit quite nicely.” She gestured toward the dining room doors. “Captain Morgan and his brother are going to be staying with us while repairs are made to their ship.”

“Staying with us?” Tillie repeated. What could they have possibly said to change Amelia’s stance on male boarders? Only women were allowed, apart from Giles, and he because the boardinghouse couldn’t do without a handyman.

“Yes, dear, while their ship is being repaired.”

“I don’t understand.”

“From what they shared with me this morning,” Amelia said, lowering her voice, “they’re going to have to make some extensive repairs before they depart for the Carolinas later this month. Captain Morgan said it may delay them by two weeks or more.”

Panic, irrational in its intensity, stirred in Tillie’s stomach. “But wouldn’t it be more feasible for them to stay on board while the repairs are being made? What if a situation arises that requires their attention?”

“Captain Morgan insists that isn’t possible,” Amelia said,
plucking at the lace that rimmed her sleeve. “Something about the nature of the damage.” Tilting her head, she peered at Tillie anxiously. “Do you have an objection to the captain and his brother staying with us?”

Other than the uncomfortable fluttering that occurred in her chest every time she laid eyes on the captain? Tillie bowed her head and swallowed the lump in her throat. “No objections.” At least none that she could think of. “I thought you were reluctant to take in male boarders.”

“That’s true, I suppose,” Amelia admitted.

Fighting to control her nervous quivering, Tillie clasped her arms around her middle. “What about the Dickersons? They’ve rooms for rent, and from what I understand, they house mostly men employed by the shipping companies down on the wharf.”

A shadow flickered across Amelia’s face. Was it desperation? Just how dire was the “bit of trouble” she had referred to earlier?

Tillie paused. “Amelia?”

She bit her lip. “The truth is, I am most grateful for their coming. Giles has been so overworked lately, and Captain Morgan’s brother has offered to help with the chores while they are here.”

Her eyes pleaded for understanding. Something was wrong, more than she was saying. Tillie opened her mouth to speak, but her words were cut short by the sliding of the door.

Captain Morgan emerged, a puzzled frown upon his face. “Is everything all right?”

Amelia immediately brightened. She left Tillie’s side and crossed to clasp his arm. “Oh my, yes. We were just discussing boardinghouse business, isn’t that right, Tillie?”

Left with little choice, she nodded agreement.

“Come then, we mustn’t let Laverne’s breakfast get cold. Captain, may I get you some more coffee?”

Tillie followed as Amelia led the way back into the dining room and then bustled to the silver coffeepot. She continued her lively chatter as she refilled first his cup and then that of his brother, but to Tillie’s ears, the talk was little more than a ruse to end an uncomfortable line of questioning.

Fine, but the discussion wasn’t over. She retook her seat at the table next to the captain. Now that she knew how deep Amelia’s worry went, she’d press until she found out what she could do to help.

Conversation around the table resumed, with Cass Morgan regaling Amelia and Meg with tales of life at sea, and Giles piping in to add a quip from his own seafaring days. How quickly the younger of the Morgans had made himself at home.

At her elbow the captain’s low tone interrupted her thinking. “Amelia tells me you’re quite a skilled musician.”

She played a tune or two on the pianoforte, but skilled? Tillie shook her head. “Only what I learned by listening, back home in Ireland. I kinna read music.”

He tapped his ear. “Ach, but to hear and replicate the sound
is
a skill.”

She frowned. “Do you play?”

He chuckled, a most pleasing sound, being that she’d not heard it from him before. “Not at all, though I’ve always admired those who can. I used to sit and listen to my ma for hours.”

His voice warmed at the mention of his mother, and Tillie felt a surprising surge of envy. While her own mother was quite learned, she never played for pleasure. “She must have a love of music.”

“That she does.” He lifted his fork and took a hearty bite of egg and sausage, savored it, then gave a nod. “The rumors are true. Laverne is a good cook. I’ll have to see if she’d be willing to pass a tip or two on to Sully.”

She paused with her cup aloft.

“The ship’s cook,” he said in response to her unasked question.

She nodded.

“So, what is it you do at the church?”

An innocent question that Tillie found herself reluctant to answer. Before she could ask herself why, he shrugged.

“Just curious.”

Of course. She took a deep breath. Whatever it was about the captain that set her nerves to tingling was of her own imagining.

She laid her napkin across her lap and lifted her chin. “Odds and ends mostly. Sometimes I help with the cooking. Other times I clean or sew—whatever they need.”

“Are there many women at the shelter?”

“Thirty-five perhaps, or forty. It varies.”

Captain Morgan’s eyebrows lifted. “That many? Where do they come from?”

She shrugged. “Overseas mostly. Single women. Or widowed with children. They have their own reasons for coming to America, but all have one thing in common. They’re hoping to find a better life.”

Her breath caught on the last part of the sentence as Braedon’s promise of what they would find once they left Ireland rang in her head. To cover her discomfort, she reached for her tea and took a sip.

“Is that why you go?” Captain Morgan asked softly. “Because you have something in common with these women?”

Tillie looked around the table at the others, who were all engrossed in their own conversations and so paid them no mind.

She swallowed with difficulty. “In part, I suppose. Mostly I just want to fill a need.”

And to have a need filled
.

She fiddled with the handle of her cup. The thought wasn’t new, but never had she felt the weight of it as keenly as she did under the captain’s intense scrutiny. Fighting the urge to squirm, she finished her tea and replaced the cup on the saucer.

“And speaking of the shelter—”

“Do you go there often?” Captain Morgan said in the same moment. He inclined his head, his long fingers stroking the stem of his water glass. “Forgive me. You were saying?”

“Just that I should be going,” Tillie said, her cheeks warming. “I’d like to get started at the millinery early so I can stop by the shelter this afternoon.” She took a deep breath and looked up at the captain, meeting his eyes. “I want you to know, I am glad that you and your brother have come. ’Twill be a help to Amelia. Good day, Captain.”

She moved to rise, but to her shock he stayed her with a touch to her hand. “Miss McGrath, before you go . . .”

She resumed her seat, resisting the temptation to rub her fingers where his touch had warmed her skin. “Aye, Captain? What is it?”

“I was wondering, how often do you make the trip?”

“To the shelter?”

He nodded.

“Three, perhaps four times a week. It depends, I suppose, on how many women they have staying. Why?”

“And . . .” He appeared uncomfortable, his Adam’s apple working as he swallowed. “Do you often walk alone?”

Tillie nodded. “I wouldn’t get far if I waited for a chaperone to escort me everywhere I needed to go, now, would I?”

“No, I suppose not.”

Though he fell silent, she sensed he wanted to say more. Tension bunched the muscles in her shoulders. “Is something wrong?”

“Don’t mind the cap,” Cass said from across the table, drawing her startled gaze. “It be in his nature to worry, especially since our
daed
passed away. I don’t know what he’d do with his time otherwise.”

He stared at his brother, and though he smiled, she sensed caution. Why? She looked back at the captain, who lifted his head and acknowledged the others at the table with a nod.

“’Tis true, I’m afraid. Inherited from me mother. There’s not a moment goes by that I’m not pondering on what bad thing might happen to endanger my crew.”

“Not such a bad trait,” Amelia said from the head of the table. A smile brightened her face. “I’ve always found it quite admirable for a man to look after the people placed in his charge.” Her smile widening, she lifted her coffee cup and saluted him with it.

“You haven’t suffered under one of his protective tirades,” Cass protested, laughing. “Or had to listen to one of his speeches. Though I will admit, it is one of the things that makes him such a good captain.” He angled his head toward Meg. “For instance, do you know that before this crossing, my brother here warned me that he thought the bilge would be needing attention?”

Meg’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Didn’t even have to look at the pump to know it, either. Ain’t that so, Morgan?”