A Light For My Love (40 page)

"Does this mean you're glad to see me,
China?" he laughed, showing off his broad white grin. He held his
arms open and she threw herself into his embrace with an incoherent
cry.

"Damn you, Quinn!" she sobbed helplessly
while she clung to him. He tightened his arms around her enough to
lift her feet off the flooring and brought her into the
kitchen.

"It's okay, China, don't cry," he urged,
putting her down.

She backed up and gave him a hard slug in the
arm. "No, it's not okay! Where have you been all these years? Why
didn't you ever write so I'd know if you were alive or dead?"

He winced. "Jake told me you're pretty angry
about it."

"You've seen Jake?" she demanded, searching
her pocket for a handkerchief. "When did you get in?"

"Early this morning. I ran into him at the
wharf, or I would have been here sooner. I had to get the details
about what we'd be shipping. We started taking on cargo just after
twelve today."

"W-when are you leaving?" she asked, fearing
the answer.

"Noon tomorrow."

"Oh, Quinn," she lamented, her voice
quivering again, and she sank into a kitchen chair.

"It can't be helped. But we have tonight to
catch up." He sat down opposite her. "Jake said some serious things
have happened around here, but he wouldn't tell me what. He said I
should hear about them from you."

He had the same seasoned look Jake had:
harder-edged, with a few lines around his eyes, more muscled, a lot
more mature than the boy who'd run away.

She couldn't take her eyes off him. "I'm glad
to see you, but I'm so furious with you, I'm not sure you have the
right to know." Then grudgingly she added, "Still I suppose it
wouldn't be right if I didn't tell you what's become of us."

She began by telling him of their father's
death. This he listened to without much reaction. She could
understand that. She might as well have been reporting the death of
a long-ago neighbor. None of them had been close to the
Captain.

But when she told him that their father had
died broke, forcing her to sell off furniture and take in boarders
to support herself and Gert, his impassive mask fractured just a
bit.

Then she told him about Ryan. She'd
suppressed it for so long, she didn't know how to begin. She looked
at him sitting across the table from her, and thought, of an
original family of five people, she and Quinn were the only two
left. She began haltingly, but as she progressed her words gained
power. And her brother leaned forward in his chair to listen, a
crease deepening between his brows. She spoke of the anguish and
worry, the agony of not knowing what had happened to Ryan, the two
years of silence that were finally ended by Dalton Williams.

She looked directly at Quinn, unwilling to
cushion the blow of her words. She wasn't going to make this easy
for him. Two pairs of blue eyes stayed riveted on each other. "When
I learned the truth, it was worse than I'd dreamed. Ryan died in
the hold of the
Cecille
, about thirty miles out of Astoria.
The crimps had crushed his skull when they hit him over the head.
Dalton held him until he was . . . gone. Our brother was thirteen
years old, Quinn. Only thirteen."

He stared at her, saying nothing. But she saw
the horror written in his eyes, and the guilt. The muscles in his
throat worked. The color had drained out of his face.

"China, God, I'm sorry. I know that doesn't
help, but—" He shook his head, as though trying to assimilate what
she'd told him. "I can't believe it, I just can't believe it.
Ryan—he was only a little boy the last time I saw him. I thought
he'd be here. I brought him a present . ."

China could almost feel sorry for him,
receiving shock after shock in the space of ten minutes.
Almost.

She clasped her cold hands around her
handkerchief and rested them on the table. The obvious question
remained, but she hadn't a clue to the answer.

"Quinn, you would never tell me why you
wanted to leave Astoria. Then one morning I woke up and found your
note, and you were gone. I think you owe me an answer. For years I
blamed Jake and hated him for it, because I couldn't bring myself
to blame you. But I know now that he really didn't have much to do
with it. And all this time without a word from you—God, what a
selfish, heartless thing to do! Did you hate us so much?"

He left his chair and sank to one knee next
to her. "No! Don't ever think that! I just felt like I was
suffocating here. I had to get away."

"That's the same thing you told me then," she
charged with some impatience, looking at his upturned face. "It's
not very enlightening."

He put his hand on his chest, and his
expression was earnest. "China—those parties and lunches you used
to have, they were fine for you. But I didn't want a life like
that. I had always wished for a father who was here, but I'm like
him, and I understood how he felt. I wanted to journey the world,
to fight storms and sail clear waters. I tried to explain it to
you." He glanced at the floor. "I guess I didn't do a very good
job. Anyway, when Jake said he was leaving, I begged him to let me
go too. He wanted me to stay here and look after you. I always
figured he was sweet on you."

Her brother, apparently, hadn't been wrong
about that. "But, Quinn, to just sneak away like that? Without even
saying good-bye?" she said.

"It was a rotten, cowardly thing to do, and
I've cursed myself for it more times than I can count. Back then, I
knew there'd be a big scene if I gave you any warning that I was
going. You were so set against it when I tried to talk to you about
it. So I wrote the note and left it on your pillow."

"Why didn't you ever write after that?" Her
voice was barely more than an anguished whisper. "Even once?
Couldn't you have at least told me you were safe? I never knew
where to find you until Jake gave me your address."

"I wrote lots of letters, from every ocean I
sailed." He turned away. "I just never sent them. And the more time
that passed, the harder it became to think of what to say to make
you forgive me. Eventually I gave up. Anyway, I thought you'd have
married Zach Stowe by now.”

Yes, didn't everyone? China thought. Jake was
right. Her brother had been spoiled and selfish. She just hadn't
let herself see it. But, besides Aunt Gert, he was the only family
she had, and she still loved him.

"At least I can help you now. This is my
chance to make things right," he said, taking her hand in his. She
heard the rough emotion in his voice. "You won't have to worry
about boarders or debts anymore. I'll see to that. And I'll be back
more often. I promise."

Tentatively, she reached out and put her hand
on his dark hair. He rested his forehead on her knee.

"I'm glad you're here, even for just a day,"
she admitted. "It's not good to feel like you have no one in the
world. Believe me, I know."

*~*~*

When Aunt Gert returned from Harbor House,
the boisterous, emotional reunion continued through dinner. Quinn
had gifts for all of them, beautiful things from faraway lands.
Susan, unaccustomed to such activity and noise, sat wide-eyed as
she witnessed the tears and the laughter. China noted with
affection that he even managed to coax the woman out of her shell
when he presented her with a lovely mother-of-pearl fan.

But eventually the hour grew late, and her
brother announced that it was time he headed back to his ship, the
Aurora
.

"Oh, Quinn, you have to stay here tonight. We
haven't seen you in so long," Gert declared. "You can stay in your
father's old room."

He pushed his chair away from the table and
rubbed his full stomach. "I can't this time. Since Jake's got the
crimps stirred up like a school of dogfish sharks, I'll feel better
if I'm with the
Aurora
tonight. My shareholders would
probably appreciate it, too."

After he was gone, China climbed the stairs
with leaden feet to go to bed. She paused before the lamp, its
flame glowing softly in the night, casting shadows on the wall. Was
it just a silly superstition, this ritual of the lamp? she asked
herself despondently. It was intended to guide loved ones home. But
she'd lost far more people than she'd gained: her father, her
brothers, her friend, and now her love.

She went to her room and closed the door,
wondering when it would stop hurting, when this terrible yearning
for Jake would end. And as she blew out the candle next to her bed,
she knew she would carry it with her all of her days.

*~*~*

Early the next morning, China had just
finished the breakfast dishes when Jake appeared at the back door.
She hadn't seen him in days, and it took all her willpower to keep
from flinging herself into his arms as she had Quinn's. But she'd
already revealed her heart in that horrible weak moment at his
father's house. That had been bad enough. She couldn't bear to see
him get the awkward, squirmy look again that told her he didn't
reciprocate her feelings.

"Hi," he said tentatively. She was glad to
see that he'd replaced his lost coat. He looked much better than he
had the last time she'd seen him, more rested, more handsome, more
endearing. "Can come in for a minute?"

"Of course," she said, with a cool composure
that surprised her. She smoothed her hands over her skirt, trying
to steady the tremor he'd started in them. He walked in, tall and
wide at the shoulder, filling the kitchen with his presence. The
instant he passed her, she detected his familiar, distinctly male
scent of soap and fresh air and salt. Oh, Jake, Jake, she thought,
how have we come to this?

He turned to look at her, and jammed his
hands in his pockets. She'd once regarded that habit as an annoying
trait, but she had come to realize that it signified his
uncertainty.

"I wanted to stop off and say good-bye," he
said. "I guess Quinn told you we're leaving at noon."

She nodded. "I was sorry he couldn't stay
longer, but," she shrugged, "he promises he'll visit more often and
write once in a while." She smiled in spite of herself. "I'm a
little skeptical, but hopeful."

He smiled back. "Cap came down to the dock to
give us his blessing. I think he wishes he was going with us. I do
too, sort of. I like that old guy."

"Oh, he'll have plenty to do," she replied.
"He's gone to live at Harbor House now, and he'll be busy keeping
that place in line."

He rested his jade eyes on her. "Are you
going to keep working with the league?"

She fiddled with the waistband of her apron.
The league had been such a sore point between them. "Probably not
as much. We accomplished what we set out to do with the
boardinghouse, and Dalton has gone to Portland. I admit the
campaign sometimes seems futile, with politicians and police bribed
to look the other way." She drew a breath and dared to gaze at his
eyes. ''We did a lot of good, but the cost was high." She expected
him to agree vehemently, bitterly.

Instead, he only nodded, letting her off the
hook. "I know steam is going to replace sail eventually. And when
steam takes over, shanghaiing will end. Those ships need skilled
crews, and they can't be bought in dockside saloons." He paused.
"Maybe it'll be for the best, but I'll be sorry to see it happen.
There's real beauty in a ship flying ahead of the wind, her canvas
full and white under the sun."

With a sense of desolation, it occurred to
her that no matter what had transpired between them, what intimacy
they had shared, ultimately the sea had won that which she herself
had only dreamed of: his devotion.

Jake stepped closer and lifted his hand to
touch her arm, then didn't. "I want to thank you for helping me
save those shipping contracts. If it hadn't been for you, I would
have let them go—I wasn't thinking straight after . . . for a
while."

He let his gaze skim over her, resting softly
here and there, on a dark curl, on the curve of her cheek, her pale
throat, the fullness of her breast, her small waist. He had to
carry these fragile pictures away with him so that he could summon
her memory when he needed it—during the deepest hour of the night,
or in moments of doubt or worry or loneliness, when his soul would
long for her. When he could comfort himself with the knowledge that
she had come to love him. Even if it had been for just a while.
Even if they would never be together.

China cringed when she saw Jake take out his
watch.

"Well," he sighed, "I've got to be going. We
still have work to do before we cast off."

It hadn't been long enough, she railed
inside. Only three months, the blink of an eye in a person's life.
She wanted to scream and weep and bar the door. Instead, she looked
up at his jade green eyes and asked, "Will you write once in a
while? To let us know how you are?"

"I'll write," he said hoarsely.

She put her hand on his coat sleeve, where
she knew the tattoo lay under his clothes. "Maybe you'll get a
chance to visit again someday?" she posed with a shaky voice.

Jake cleared his throat. "Maybe." And for the
space of a breath he thought that if, this very minute, she asked
him to stay, to give up every other dream he'd ever had, he'd do
it, and gladly. Even if it meant working in a cannery for the rest
of his life. If he could come home at night to hold her and protect
her and let her shelter him, it would be worth the drudgery.

But the moment passed and the request didn't
come. Of course it didn't. He'd already told her it was too
late.

An awkward silence stretched between them.
Finally Jake took China into his arms one last, urgent time. The
wool nap of his new coat prickled against her cheek. He bent his
head down to hers.

"Take care of yourself, honey," he whispered.
"God, I wish things could have been different."