A Light For My Love (9 page)

"My using blackmail isn't any worse than a
man who's low enough to risk a lady's reputation by meeting her for
a tryst in a stable."

"What!" she choked, inflamed by his
outrageous insinuation.

"But I guess he's done me a favor. He's made
it possible for me to move out of that closet you gave me to sleep
in."

"Just what are you implying?" China demanded.
She knew exactly what he meant. There was an angry, ominous glint
in his eyes that should have frightened her. Instead, it nipped at
her own temper.

"Shall we go upstairs? I'd like to choose my
room and get moved in before dinner."

Jake strode from the kitchen and down the
hall to the back stairs, taking the steps two at a time. It was all
China could do to keep up, encumbered by her full skirts on the
narrow, circular staircase.

"Jake! Stop it!" she commanded breathlessly,
but he ignored her and charged ahead. Her eyes were fixed on the
broad stretch of his shoulders, which the white shirt only
accentuated.

"Let's see." He flung open the door to the
guest room where he'd often spent the night years earlier. "I
remember this room—"

The gaslight from the hall threw a shaft of
light across the bare floor and up the empty wall. Except for a
small table near the closet, the dark, shuttered room held no
furniture. Only the lace curtains still hung at the windows.

"Hmm, what did you do? Burn everything after
I left?" he asked with vague amusement.

"You have no right—" she snapped, but he
moved on to the next door as though she hadn't spoken.

Down the hall he went, opening another room
and finding it the same as the first empty of furniture, rugs, and
pictures. China hurried after him, pulling on his arm, but there
was no stopping him.

After he pushed on the door to Quinn's bare
room, China exclaimed, "
John Jacob Chastaine!
That is
enough
!"

That stopped him. Some of the fury and spark
that had sent Jake charging up the stairs fizzled away. He knew
that the nameless emotion, the one he refused to identify, had
fueled his anger. He'd seen the guilty flush in her cheeks when she
faced him in the kitchen, and his imagination filled in the rest.
Now he stood before the last empty room he'd opened, feeling a
little stupid over the way he'd acted. He forced himself to look at
China and tried not to wince. Though slender and pale, she seemed
to tower over him like a raven-haired avenging angel. Her face was
paper-white, but she held her chin high and her dark blue eyes
pierced him like harpoons. He could hear the breath rushing in and
out of her lungs.

"How dare you," China began, her voice low,
shaking with rage and humiliation. "How dare you come back here and
demand to be treated like an honored guest? Prying into things that
are none of your business? Making filthy insinuations?" Her hands
dosed into fists at her sides. "Did you think you could just drop
in after all these years, after—
everything
, and think
nothing would be different, that I'd welcome you as if nothing had
happened? Did you really think that, Jake?"

"No, I didn't think that," he muttered
impatiently, jamming his hands into his back pockets. "What I
really expected—"

"That's good, because hardly anything is the
same," she continued, interrupting him. "These rooms are empty
because I've had to sell the furniture and rugs and paintings. I
saw you looking for my father's picture of the
Joyce P.
Frankenberg
in the dining room. Well, it's gone too. I even had
to sell most of my mother's jewelry to support Aunt Gert and the
others here. The only thing of value that we have left is this
house." China permitted herself a brittle, acerbic smile. "You
finally have more money than I do. If I remember correctly, that
was one of your goals."

It had never been one of his goals, but he
wasn't going to debate the issue. "You're not responsible for old
man Meredith and Mrs. Price," he pointed out, reaching forward to
close Quinn's door.

China pushed his hand aside and shut the door
herself. "They are family, Jake. They live under this roof and I
take care of them."

Jake had nearly forgotten how important
family had always been to China. With her mother dead and the
Captain always gone, she'd struggled to keep her brothers and aunt
together. That part of her was the same—except now both of her
parents were dead, her brothers were gone to sea, and her "family"
composed mostly of strangers.

"I'm surprised you didn't get married," he
said, picking up his earlier thought. "That's what I
expected
. I thought Zach Stowe would be your husband and
you'd have a couple of children by now."

"Husband." China felt her breath leave her.
His remark made a ragged cut, like a piece of broken glass. China
drew herself a little taller, though she felt a scarlet flush
creeping up her face. "It would seem I lost my marriageability
along with my money."

For the second time in as many days, Jake's
conscience jabbed at him, and he didn't like it one bit. He felt
like he was eight years old again and had just been caught stealing
that pocketknife from the hardware store. He wished he could turn
back the clock a few days and be magically transported to the deck
of the
Katherine Kirkland
in the middle of the Pacific. He'd
know nothing about China's circumstances, and she wouldn't have had
the opportunity to put him in the attic. And he wouldn't have seen
her with the sailor who took her by the hand as she led them away
from prying eyes.

"And that sailor I saw out in the yard? I
suppose he's
family
too?" he snapped sarcastically. He knew
he was overstepping his bounds again, but he couldn't forestall the
remark.

China felt certain that if this conversation
went on much longer, she would burst a blood vessel. It was
supposed to remain a secret, for the sake and safety of so many.
But Jake had goaded her with his vile accusations, and she was not
a very good martyr. She would tell him what he'd seen. Oh, she
thought with relish, it would be a pleasure, a
joy
to prove
him wrong. She shot a quick, cautious glance to the end of the
hall. She saw no one.

"This is really none of your concern," she
began in a furious whisper, drawing herself up stiffly, "but for
your information, that man is the voice of the mute, speaking for
those who are not heard. He's working to defend and protect scores
of subjugated men taken against their will from their
families."

Jake lifted his brows at this flowery speech
and at the worshipful zeal in China's words. She sounded like a
convert to some religion, coached to repeat its doctrine, but it
told him nothing.

"You mean defend them in court? I haven't met
many lawyers, but I never saw one dressed like a common
seaman."

"Shhhh!" She held a finger to her mouth,
which was pressed into a tight line, then looked up and down the
hall again. She shook her head, frowning irritably. "He's not a
lawyer. Dalton founded the Sailors Protective League."

"And he comes to see you about donations for
its library, right?" Jake scoffed. He found himself whispering
back.

China gave him a pained look. Of all the
things she'd worried about when she and Dalton began using the
carriage house, the one that had never occurred to her was how it
might appear to someone else if they were seen out there
together.

She searched for a good description of the
man. "Dalton Williams is—is a hero," she extolled, "working to end
shanghaiing in Astoria and Portland. He tries to save men who've
been drugged in crooked boardinghouses and saloons, to be kidnapped
by the crimps—" Here she turned another icy glare on him—"and sold
to captains like cattle. He's trying to establish a safe
boardinghouse for seamen, but till he can I'm helping him by
letting him board men out back who are too sick or injured to go
home or to take care of themselves."

An alarm bell sounded in Jake's mind. Dalton
Williams, he pondered. Why did that name sound familiar to him?
Then he thought back to the night he had stood at Pug's bar in the
Blue Mermaid. Suddenly he felt the blood drain out of his face.
China was the accomplice those two snake-oil salesmen had
speculated about. The one they thought to be rid of for twenty
dollars.

"You're working with Williams?" he asked
incredulously.

China smiled with fierce pride, lifting her
chin. "Yes. I see you've heard of him."

"Heard of him! Jesus Christ, China, his name
is poison in Swill Town. He's a target—he's got a big bull's-eye on
his forehead, and it's suspected that someone is working with him."
Jake went on to tell her what he'd overheard. "So far, I don't
think anyone knows you're the one helping him, but you've got to
get out of this, now, before someone figures out what you're doing.
You're mixed up in dangerous business."

She shook her head. "I don't care. This is
too important to give up and Dalton needs me."

Jake ran a hand through his hair. "Dalton,"
he blasted, "is either a fool or a lunatic to involve you in this
scheme. And I know better than you the kind of people involved with
crimping."

"Yes, I'm sure you do, since you've probably
done business with them!" China replied heatedly, emotion driving
her own words far above a whisper. "Well, Dalton knows, too. He was
shanghaied from Astoria a few years ago with other men, some of
them really only boys—"

"You're right," Jake interrupted. "I've paid
blood money a few times under captain's orders, and I might have to
again. But I've always made sure the men got decent wages and were
treated well. It's not a great system, but it's an unavoidable part
of deep-sea merchant sailing. I don't know why I have to tell you
that. You grew up in this town—your father bought crewmen
himself."

"Let's leave the Captain out of this, shall
we? I don't need your permission to help Dalton and I'm not asking
for it. There is no excuse at all for what the crimps do. Stealing
men off the street, men who've never been on a ship in their lives.
For heaven's sake, they take men from their farms and out of the
woods. They even tried to shanghai Reverend Grannis right out of
his church last year. If he didn't have some skill with his fists—"
She stopped, seeing Susan poke her head out of the sewing room at
the end of the hall.

Following China's glance, Jake stared at the
woman until she retreated, softly closing the door again behind
her. Sighing, he turned back to face China.

"Look, you're in deep water with this, but I
guess you're going to do what you want. You Sullivans are a
stubborn lot, and I've got my own business to attend to. Like I
said the other day, I shouldn't have come here."

China took a deep breath and briefly pressed
her hand to her forehead, struggling to regain her composure. Those
were the truest words he'd spoken so far. Her life wasn't easy, but
she'd had far better control of it before Jake Chastaine came back.
Despite all the promises she'd made to herself to ignore him, it
just wasn't working. It was her fervent wish that she could show
him the front door and throw his things out after him. But she was
in no position to do that. She'd have to tolerate him.

The anger drained out of his voice, replaced
by a hint of weariness. "I'll get my gear and go to the Occident.
Just give me back two months' rent. You keep the other one for your
trouble."

China gaped at him. "You mean you're
leaving?"

He gave her a faint smile that didn't reach
his eyes. "Yes. Isn't that a relief?"

"Well—no, yes—" She groaned inwardly,
thinking about that old saying, Be careful what you wish for . . .
you may get it. She would be thrilled beyond measure to see Jake
move to a hotel. Unfortunately, even less than the one month's rent
he referred to was left of what he'd paid them. She couldn't return
his money—she didn't have it. And now that she'd blurted out all
that information about the carriage house and the league, she'd
given him a powerful weapon to use against her if he chose to. She
should have just kept her mouth shut and let him think the worst of
her. Her mind began whirling. Maybe she could sell another few
pieces of furniture or the rest of the jewelry to get the
money—

"I'll be ready to go in a few minutes. Don't
set a place for me at the table. I won't be staying for dinner." He
stepped past her and strode down the hall toward the back stairs,
his boot steps muffled on the runner.

Oh, no, China fretted. He meant to leave
right now
. She had to do something. "Jake, wait a minute,"
she called.

He stopped in a shadow and turned to look at
her. Beyond the reach of the gaslight, his eyes shone with a hint
of danger.

"Maybe we can come to a compromise," she
said, walking toward him with dragging steps and forcing a tight,
conciliatory smile. "I'm sor— Well, I don't want to see us part
with hard feelings." This was so galling she thought she might
choke on the words.

Jake raised his brows again at her sudden
change of tune. "No hard feelings, China. Just give me back my
money and I'll be on my way." He watched her as she stood in front
of him, nervously turning her ring on her finger. She was still
worried, he suspected, and probably more so now that she'd told him
about Williams, and that was why she was trying to placate him.
Well, too bad, let her worry. Her scheme with the carriage house
was none of his concern. If she was determined to continue, he
couldn't stop her. The less he knew about it, the better. "I don't
want to be here any more than you want me to stay. I can't keep to
your schedule and I'm just upsetting your routine."

"You mean about meals? From now on, we'll put
a plate in the warmer for you if you're not home on time." China
was not good at this kind of game, but she didn't know what else to
do. She couldn't tell what he was thinking—his expression revealed
nothing more than a slight frown. She hoped he wouldn't make her
beg him to change his mind.