Hope Reborn (4 page)

Toward the end of her fifth evening at sea, over a game of cribbage, he rather nonchalantly announced in quite a condescending tone, “Tomorrow when we dock in Havana, I’m going to insist that you remain on board, ma’am.”

She resisted the urge to tell him she would do no such thing, and instead, decided to play the helpless southern belle she’d been born to and offered her demure Victorian smile.

“Why, Captain, explain if you will why in the world I would want to do that. I’ve been looking forward to seeing Cuba for myself, especially since our new President Fillmore intends to buy the island from the Spanish. Who knows when I might have the opportunity again? Why indeed would you insist any such thing?”

The captain filled his lungs then looked over May’s head like he couldn’t believe she challenged his authority. After a bit too long, he lowered his gaze.

“Havana is rife with all kinds of tropical diseases, ma’am. Why expose yourself? We’ll only be there long enough to take on fresh water and a few hundred tons of coal.”

“He’s right, May; it’s not worth the risk.”

She turned in her chair and stared at Chester. She hated it when he sided against her. He knew better. She turned back. “Perhaps I’ll consider your request.”

“Perhaps you should.” He held her eyes then the slightest grin turned the corners of his thin lips. He moved his cribbage peg forward. “The island is not New York, ma’am.

“You don’t say.”

Ignoring her tone, he added an argument. “Local customs do not allow a lady to walk the streets alone. I’d hate for you to be locked in their calaboose when the time came for the Georgia to cast off.”

Her faced warmed. “Chester would accompany me to thwart any such action were I to decide to explore a bit. Don’t worry over me, Captain.”

Not soon enough for her, the quitting time came. It gave her a bit of satisfaction that the settlement put her way ahead for the four sessions.

He dropped the mixture of gold and notes into her outstretched hand. “Until tomorrow? I request another rematch.”

“Of course, where else would I be?”

She held her tongue until Chester opened the door to her suite. “I hate it when you take someone else’s side, and you know it.”

“I do, but he was actually taking my side. I didn’t bring it up earlier, but going ashore wasn’t an option.”

“What? Why not?”

“Forget disease being a constant threat, I won’t accompany you. I don’t like manual labor.”

She stepped through and nodded him inside. Once the oil lamp’s glow lit the room and the door closed, she faced him. “Why are you babbling on about manual labor? You haven’t worked a day in your life.”

“Not true, but that’s a different debate. What’s at issue is that Cuba is overrun with slave traders, and if half the stories I’ve heard are true, a man of color such as myself is more than likely to be branded a runaway and sold before the cock crows.”

She smirked. “The scalawags couldn’t put you in the field. I wouldn’t let them.”

He sneered right back. “You? How could you stop them? You heard the captain; it’s against the law for an unoccupied female to even be on the streets of Havana.”

“You believed that? It couldn’t be true. Why, it’s the nineteenth century for goodness sake.”

“Ask the purser if you don’t think so. Besides, all the more time to write.”

She waved him off. “Go away, you men are such….” She clinched her teeth, not wanting to lump her Chester in with all the other hairy brutes. “I was looking forward to seeing Havana.”

He nodded and backed toward the door. “I know.”

“Breakfast, then?”

He nodded again then was gone.

Once she snuffed the bedside lamp and slipped under the covers, the last bit of hope that Captain Orr could possibly be a suitable mate disappeared. She wanted a husband, not a father.

She did like the man’s beard though. Maybe she should insist that any suitor not shave. What would kissing a man with a mustache be like? Certainly, she wouldn’t be finding out with the Captain.

Within a perfectly good sleep vision, she doubled over in pain. An awful cramp racked her abdomen so badly she couldn’t straighten. The dream’s storyline fractured, and she curled in a fetal position.

A knock drew her toward consciousness; she snuggled deeper into her pillows. A louder rap echoed through her room and settled right between her eyes.

“Go away.”

Her bedroom door opened. “May, are you sick?”

She rolled over, scooted up in the bed, and pulled her knees up. Wrapping her arms around them, she glared at him. “Yes, get your pistol and put me out of my misery.”

“I didn’t bring it. Want coffee?”

A tear rolled down her cheek. “No.” A sob escaped. “He’s not the one.”

“I could have told you that.”

She held her hand out. He took it. “I love you, Chester.”

“I know.”

Coffee and breakfast in bed helped some, but the indisputable fact that she wasn’t pregnant and had no prospects weighed heavy on her soul. Was her fate to never know true romantic love, never wake up with a lawfully wedded husband curled beside her?

A light rap sounded at her door. “Ma’am?”

“What Chester? Did you find a gun? Surely the purser has one.”

“No, I have something better. Can we come in?”

We? Who did the scoundrel have with him? “No! Go away.”

The door opened a bit. “Cover yourself, we’re coming in.”

She pulled the satin spread to her neck. If he was going to act like this, she needed her own pistol. He stepped in then pointed at a spot in front of her bed. “Put it there.”

Two stewards dressed in all white carried in a metal bath. The pair of burly men set it down then retreated without looking her direction. Right behind them, maids hurried in carrying pitchers of lovely hot water.

Once they filled the tub with steamy liquid gold and the small army he had mustered vanished, she smiled. “Oh, Chester, you spoil me so.”

He draped two fluffy towels over her bedside chair, nodded then backed out. “Yes, ma’am.”

Though she really didn’t care to play with Orr that evening, she decided it wouldn’t be sporting not to give the man a chance to win his money back. Then again, his bossy behavior the night before had taken the fun out of it.

She’d known all along he wasn’t the one, but giving him the opportunity to change her mind had been somewhat intriguing, even pleasurable. Now she only wanted to punish him, teach him that he had no business telling her what she could and could not do.

Insist indeed. Who did the man think he was anyway?

Certainly not the captain of her ship.

Each night’s victories invigorated the next day’s ink slinging. Her story took on an edge that it had lacked. Then another problem raised its ugly head. Should she stop there and go back?

The first half of the manuscript probably needed to be reworked. After a lovely breakfast in her room with Chester on the morning of her last full day at sea, she broached the subject.

“Well, what do you think?”

He refilled her coffee cup. “I think the ladies who read your stories will love it.”

“You’re just saying that. What do you really think? Don’t try to spare my feelings.”

“When have I ever done such?”

“Tell me, chowderhead! What do you think?”

He tapped the table several times then shrugged. “The last two chapters are far superior to the first twenty-four, but we’re docking tomorrow morning, and well, it would be nice to post this before we leave New Orleans.”

“Well, you can forget that. I can’t wrap it up that quickly, and I do want this one to be –” She stopped herself. While she’d love to be done with it, not have the deadline hanging over her head, she would once again be without a contract, and that remained the only thing worse than having one.

“Better? That the word you were searching for?”

“Yes.”

“Best rework it then.”

“How much time do I have?”

“Enough, I’ll telegraph your editor from New Orleans.”

She resisted the urge to hug his neck. He hated her being demonstrative. “Excellent, thank you.”

“Ma’am, there’s another matter.”

“What now?”

“The captain, ma’am. He’s requested a few moments in private with you.”

His words pushed her to the back of her chair. What could the man want? After the first couple of nights, he had refrained from any hints at a side trip to his bed. “Have any idea what he’s after?”

“A loan perhaps?”

She laughed. Wouldn’t that be ace high? Should she insist on a signed contract, or be adamant she didn’t loan money to losers like him?

“No, I don’t think so. The man plays for the fun of it. He’s never offered to up the stakes. I don’t think that’s what it is. What else could it be?”

“A proposal?” He held the china coffee cruse up. “What shall I tell the purser?”

She declined more java. “I will require you in the next room, but with that provision, a few minutes alone will be fine so far as I’m concerned. Wouldn’t that meet with your approval?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The words flowed that morning and almost put themselves on the page. She loved it when the little darlings did that. If only she could write faster, and her hand didn’t get so tired.

Should she perhaps hire a scribe? No. She didn’t need more people in her life. She liked things exactly the way they were, just her and Chester.

Who needed a husband anyway?

She set her pen down. Tears welled then trickled down her cheek. She did, that’s who, and before her whole life slipped away.

In the deepest sanctums of her inner being, she longed to be a mother, though she’d never told a soul. Not even Chester. If the captain really wanted to get her alone so he could propose, should she settle?

Images of a little bearded baby tickled away the tears. She rather liked the facial hair, but had never wanted to settle. She wanted the entirety of the perfect happy endings she wrote over and over.

Not one of her heroines missed having it all, not one. And she never gave one of them just any man, but the right one. She gave her protagonists the man she could fall so deeply in love with that her life would be perfect until she died.

So why couldn’t she meet the perfect forever man to marry?

Shouldn’t she at least be equal with all the women she’d created on the page? Hers was not the captain. The dream man who’d sweep her off her feet would never boss her around.

She hated it when a brute thought he knew what was best for her just because hair covered his face and chest. Life was so unfair.

She reconsidered.

Millicent May Orr. He’d surely have to hear her first name. She’d hate that. Maybe she could change him. Were she to explain how much she hated being told what to do, that she had no need for another father, would he promise to refrain?

May Orr. Dear Heavens, she’d sound like a grimy politician, and at only the city level. She’d certainly have to keep her maiden name for a pseudonym. Why, with May Orr on the cover of her books, her readers might even think a man wrote a romance story!

How absurd.

They would giggle themselves silly.

After only three dress changes, she found herself at the captain’s supper table sitting in what had become her place to his right. She picked at broiled fish and drank no wine whatsoever.

Nothing should dampen her resolve to tell the man flat out that she would not marry him. If indeed, that’s what plagued his bearded mind.

Should she let him kiss her? Just once, so she’d know exactly what it felt like to have all that hair against her face? She imagined it would tickle her lips.

Through dessert and the short stroll to his state room with Chester and the purser a respectable distance behind them, she contemplated that question. Could one mustached kiss weaken her resolve? Best not chance it.

The door closed. Her heart fluttered then beat faster. Alone with the man.

He took her hand. Would he fall to one knee? “Sweet May, these last few days have been so much fun, exhilarating.”

“I’ve enjoyed most of it.” She tilted her head ever so slightly as she’d had so may heroines do, and offered the hint of a smile. “Especially the winning part.”

He smiled as if he’d been letting her win, but that would be a lie. “I have a proposition for you. I own a home in New Orleans.”

Proposition? That was an odd word. Proposition, proposal—same root. Still, a very strange selection. Surely he couldn’t possibly be insinuating a liaison without the benefits of marriage.

How would he think for one minute that she’d agree to be his kept woman? Steam bubbled up from her gut, but she would afford him the benefit of doubt.