Against the Tide (17 page)

“Risking my life? I think that is a slight exaggeration.”

The admiral frowned at her. “Slipping in under cover of night
in order to plunder the office of a known smuggler? Bane was gambling with your safety, and that is not something a gentleman would ask of any woman, especially not someone he cares for. I hope you are not endowing Bane with some false notion of romantic gallantry, because he will throw you to the lions if it means advancing his cause.”

The words had a ring of truth, and they stung. Bane claimed to love her, but not at the price of abandoning his quest. The admiral had not stopped speaking. “I have severed my association with Banebridge,” he said. “His goal of reforming the opium laws is commendable, but I refuse to tolerate the underhanded techniques he has been using of late.”

“Trying to change the laws will take years,” she said. “Decades. Won’t it?”

“Probably.”

Lydia thought of the children who still lived at the Crakken Orphanage. In all likelihood, several of those children would be lining up this very evening for a dose of Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup to ensure a good night of sleep. By the time the law could be changed to prevent such abuses, those children would have grown into adults and likely have children of their own. Perhaps they would also make regular visits to pharmacies, just as she did, to buy a bottle of the medicine she knew to be so effective.

“I think this issue is too important to wait.” She spoke the words quietly, knowing her statement was in direct opposition to everything the admiral believed. “I’ve read about the abolitionists and what they did before the Civil War,” she said cautiously. “They tried to outlaw slavery through legitimate channels, and that crusade lasted more than a hundred years before it was resolved. In the meantime, some of the abolitionists did things that were illegal too. The underground railroad. Waylaying slave ships.
Surely you would not consider those actions immoral, even if they were illegal.”

She looked cautiously at the admiral, but there was no softening on his face. “Is this the tactic Banebridge used to convince you to prowl around like a thief in the night?”

“No. I did not even think of this before you spoke of our actions as underhanded and immoral. I will own up to the first, but won’t accept the second.”

“Then we have reached an impasse,” the admiral said. “I can appreciate your point of view, but you must understand that I do not condone it, nor can I support you in any action that breaks the law.”

The words hurt, but she refused to be swayed from her objective. “If you know how I can get in touch with Alexander Banebridge, I would truly appreciate it.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Pallas. Banebridge has always held his cards very close to the chest, and I have no idea where he is at this time.”

She knew the admiral would not lie, which meant her trip here had been pointless. She tried not to let disappointment show on her face as she stood. “Thank you for your time. And although it ended badly, thank you for the opportunity you gave me to work at the Navy Yard. It was truly a privilege.”

As she walked along the street bordering the Charles River that housed the dry docks, the rope factory, and the ironworks, Lydia knew she would never see this beloved stretch of land again. It was here she had found confidence in her abilities to support herself and grow into an independent woman. Perhaps more important, the Navy Yard was where she was given the opportunity to contribute to the country that had taken her in and provided shelter to her when she was nothing but a storm-tossed orphan. Now she would need to find a new life for herself, but somehow she could not imagine it would be anywhere nearly as wonderful as this.

18

D
espite the dim light of the moon, Lydia did her best to scurry along the poorly lit streets, one eye on the icy cobblestone walkway, the other watching the darkened corners and alleyways to be sure no drunken sailor came lurching toward her. Four o’clock in the morning was no time to be out on the streets, but if she wished to keep her employment at the Stolinski Bakery, she needed to hurry.

Lydia had never given any thought as to how shops had freshly baked bread and warm blueberry scones before the sun even rose. Now she knew it was because a small army of workers braved icy walkways in the middle of the night to fire up ovens, heft cumbersome sacks of flour, knead dough, and stack loaves of bread into delivery wagons. Not that Lydia was permitted to work with the food yet. She did not even qualify as an apprentice baker; her tasks were to feed coal into the ovens, scour the huge metal trays the bread bakers used, and keep the floors clean. By the end of each day, her muscles were screaming for relief, and it was difficult for her to walk the three miles back to the Laughing Dragon.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she rounded the corner and saw the dim lights glowing within the Stolinski Bakery. The little bell above the door tinkled as she entered, and old Mrs. Stolinski looked up from her ledger book.

“You are late again,” she said in a voice loud enough for everyone in the bakery to hear.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. The ice on the street made it hard to walk.”

“Ice,” the old lady muttered as she stared at Lydia. “Nine other employees had ice on their walkways, but they got here on time.”

Lydia’s gaze darted to the clock above the counter to see it was six minutes past four o’clock. As unpleasant as old Mrs. Stolinski’s demeanor was, there was truth to what she said, and Lydia met her eyes without flinching. “I’m sorry I was late and grateful someone was able to get the ovens started.” She shrugged out of her cloak and hung it alongside the other employees’ wraps. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

Because Lydia would no longer be living at the Laughing Dragon. Even if it hadn’t been too late to buy her apartment, the Laughing Dragon was too far away from her new job and too expensive. She could no longer afford the luxury of living at her treasured apartment, since the bakery paid less than one-third of what she had been earning at the Navy Yard and her expenses had stayed the same.

She had already notified the Brandenbergs she would be leaving the Laughing Dragon, as the deadline had arrived and she hadn’t come up with the money to buy her apartment. The contract allotted her two weeks to move out, and she was using that time to find a new place to live.

Just as Lydia had always feared, she was sliding back into the tightening snare of poverty.

Karl’s presence beside her was the only thing that prevented Lydia from tossing her satchel down into the snow, collapsing on the cobblestone path, and sobbing like a baby. Karl had taken the morning off from work to help her move, and he shouldn’t have to listen to her whine for something that could never be. Besides, she never cried and was not about to start today.

This morning, she had closed the door on her beloved home at the Laughing Dragon for the last time. With the exception of what she carried in her satchel and what Karl lugged on his back, she was losing everything she owned in the world.

“Are you sure about this, Lydia?” Karl asked once again. “I can borrow a wagon if you want to bring more of your things.”

She shook her head. She adored Karl, but every time he offered to help salvage her belongings, she felt as if he were ripping a bandage off a fresh wound. “When you see the room I’ve leased, you will understand,” she said. The tiny room came furnished with a bed, a small table, and a trunk to store her clothing. There was no space for anything else. Certainly not enough room for the comfortable upholstered chair where she loved to curl up with a book, or the hand-carved armoire she had bought from a family moving out west. All of it was going to be sold at auction this afternoon. The estate agent told her to expect about forty dollars in proceeds.

The money would be welcome, as there was still no sign of Bane or the funds he owed her.

“Not even enough room for your books?” Karl asked. “I know how much you treasure them. Surely you could find a space. Perhaps under the bed?” He shifted the sack of her clothing a little higher on his back, then grasped her elbow as he helped her cross the street.

It hurt too badly to think of her books. “Everything I really value is right here in my arms,” she said blankly. “Do you suppose it is possible to sum up a person’s life by what we choose to keep
with us? Because I don’t think there is anything I truly need other than what I am carrying.”

The furniture was gone. The draperies she had sewn by hand were gone. She did not have personal letters or photographs that someone from a normal family would have. She had briefly toyed with the idea of keeping her Lewis and Clark book, but she knew there was no room in her life for foolish daydreams. The knowledge had not stopped a searing ache from ripping through her when she set the book in the box of items to sell. The few treasures she now carried in her arms were precious to her.

“I brought my little picture of the Mediterranean island,” Lydia said. “When I see that I can almost smell the salt air and remember Mama’s singing as we sorted fish into baskets.” She wanted to say more, but thinking of those faraway days caused the lump in her throat to grow and her eyes to mist. The last time she had cried had been her first day of school when she wept tears of joy. Through all the sorrow and chaos of the following years, never once had she broken down and cried. She wouldn’t start now.

She kept rambling as they walked, hoping to ease the torrent of sorrow welling inside her. “I brought the miniature model of a navy frigate Willis gave me on my first week of work when he realized my ignorance of any ship besides a fishing boat. No matter how badly it ended, those years at the Navy Yard will always be precious to me,” Lydia said. She walked faster as the memories flooded through her.

“And I brought a compass Bane gave me,” she said. “I know you don’t approve of him, but I think the world of Bane. He gave me that compass because he said I was too much of a sissy to venture into the unknown.” She gave a watery gulp of laughter. “He was right. Bane was always right about that sort of thing.” Karl was mercifully silent as she walked and rambled on about Bane. “He
helped me in ways I’ve never imagined, and even though it hurts so badly, I’m glad I got to know someone like him. Everyone ought to have a brilliant, glorious rascal in their life just once, right?” She swiped at her eyes, determined that not one tear should fall.

Lydia tightened her arms around her sack. “I brought my copy of the Bible,” she continued. “On my eighteenth birthday, the Crakken Orphanage gave me five dollars and a Bible and sent me on my way. I want so badly to believe there is a God out there. I’ve never been able to make much sense of the Bible, but it means a lot to Bane, so I will begin reading it.”

Karl stopped and turned to look down at her, ignoring the pedestrians who had to step around them in the center of the walk. “Bane told you to read the Bible?” he asked, surprise on his Nordic features.

She nodded. “He didn’t show that side of himself to many people, but it is there, and it is deep and profound for him. Bane is the most dedicated, valiant man I know,” she said. “I want to learn from his example. The loneliness clawing inside me is so terrible, I just need
something.
” Tears were threatening to spill, so she drew a ragged breath to get ahold of herself. “I ache inside. I feel pointless. Bane said he was vacant inside before he found God, and I feel vacant too, so I need to keep trying to find God as well. I’ll do
anything
to stop this ache inside me.”

It hurt to let Karl see her so devastated, so she turned and began walking again. He fell into step beside her. “I used to feel important,” Lydia said. “I felt like my job as a translator was helping to make the navy stronger. I thought my parents would be so proud of me, but now all I do is scrape coal residue from the bottom of ovens. I don’t know what I am meant to be anymore.”

Karl shifted the sack again so he could reach an arm out to wrap around her shoulders. “You are meant to be sad and miserable for a
little while. That is the way of a broken heart, Lydia. Come spring, all this will not seem so terrible. I promise you.”

She did not believe him, but they had arrived at Bayside Rooming House for Women, and she hurt too much to continue the conversation. She paid the landlady and signed the papers acknowledging that this shabby waterfront tenement was her new home.

Just this once, the landlady gave her permission for a man to help carry her belongings to her room. As they entered the tiny room, a flash of concern showed in Karl’s eyes. He noticed the water stain on the ceiling and the threadbare coverlet on the bed, but quickly masked his concern. “This is a fine place, Lydia.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He set her satchel down, and just before he left, Karl turned back toward her. “If you are going to read the Bible, don’t start at the first page. It is too easy to get bogged down that way. You might start with the book of John, which is a little friendlier to a beginner.”

“Thank you, Karl.”

After he left, it took her less than five minutes to unpack her paltry belongings. The Mediterranean island picture and the Bible on the bedside table. Her compass she would keep tucked inside her pocket. And when she reached inside her satchel, she withdrew the one item she had not told Karl about.

On the small ledge of the narrow window, Lydia placed her little blue bottle of Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup.