Lucky's Lady (The Caversham Chronicles Book 4) (37 page)

Mary-Michael lowered her voice to a whisper. "I just hope that I will be blessed this time."

Becky hugged her tight. "We want that for you, too, Mary-Michael."

"Have you had a chance since he's arrived to—" Cady again checked to make certain no one was close enough to hear her. "To become intimate again?"

Mary-Michael nodded.

"I'll say extra prayers for you," Becky said.

"Me, too," Cady added. "No one wants to see you have your own child more than we do."

"I could use them," Mary-Michael said. "It would be nice if we could beg Melody to say a prayer or two, but we can't tell her about this at all."

"No, you probably shouldn't do that," Cady said. "While she is my sister, she is a nun now. She would be incredibly disappointed in us."

"For not telling her maybe," Becky said. "Believe me, she's still human, and she still cares about us."

"I'd rather we didn't tell Mel— ah, Sister Elizabeth," Mary-Michael said. If Melody knew, she might be hurt that no one confided in her. But if Mary-Michael was correct, she'd never be able to face her friend without the other woman censuring her for her actions.

The three ladies became quiet. Mary-Michael squeezed Cady's hand and her friend said, "Edgar and I want a boy so desperately. Even though he has the two boys by his late wife, and we have the three girls, we want a son together."

"Just as badly as David and I want a girl, after our two sons," Becky added.

Just then Gretchen came down the steps, angry because Davy wouldn't share his toys. The dam of emotion she held back was threatening to burst, and Mary-Michael didn't know how much longer she could hold her tears back.

"Well, I must be going," she said as her vision blurred. "It's getting late and I should be home by now." She walked away, and called out over her shoulder, "I'll see you both at church in the morning."

Mary-Michael walked quickly, avoiding the gazes of her neighbors as she acknowledged them on the way past. It was just getting dark enough that she was certain they couldn't see her crying. She wished she didn't care what they thought, but she did. All these years she let them believe she didn't care what their opinions were. In truth, she cared a great deal. She heard their whispers of her unnatural mind for woman. She knew they thought her awkward and overly intelligent. They thought her odd.

If they only knew that she wanted what every other young woman wanted. A normal life. A normal home. A normal family. But it would never happen for her. It couldn't because of the gift she'd been born with. A gift not many were given.

Perceptive man that her mentor and husband was, she couldn't get past his keen eye and hearing as he sat in his office reading something when she closed the front door. She intentionally didn't look his way as she made for the steps, but his voice called out for her.

"I'll be right back," she said, running up the steps. She had to compose herself before he asked her about her day. First there was the incident on the boat, where she'd almost lost Lucky to a falling block, then the immodest display showing all and sundry what was between them. Then there was the broken door to the office, which she had yet to tell her husband about, much less explain how and why it happened.

But what hurt her heart most at this moment was the encounter with her two dearest friends in the world. She adored them both and she was genuinely happy for them–except that her own desire for children made her admittedly jealous of their happiness.

She knew there was just one thing to do, and that was to keep trying to conceive for as long as Lucky was in Indian Point. She thought about creating a minor problem with the
Lady M,
forcing him to stay a while longer, but she knew he and Ian had schedules to keep, and a business to run. She would have to take every opportunity available to her, without inventing problems or obstacles to keep the man she'd chosen to sire her babe in her sleepy little village on Curtis Bay any longer than was necessary. If her attempts at conception failed by the time her business with Lucky was done, then she would either try once more to adopt, or she would settle for a life without children.

After splashing cold water on her face, Mary-Michael removed her jacket and straightened her clothing. She entered Mr. Watkins' office and took a seat across the desk from him, waiting for a gentle scolding regarding her behavior that morning.

Her husband raised his unruly frosty eyebrows. "I hear you and the Captain had an argument."

Her heart sank. She wondered how he knew so soon, and as she opened her mouth to apologize, but he laughed. "My Abigail and I used to have some wall-shakers when we were first married. The only thing we ever fought over was my taking a turn or two in the ring.

"Well, once I was so angry I tried to put my fist through the wall, and wound up breaking my hand, which ended any aspirations I had at a career in boxing. And, I have to say, I think she arranged for that argument to happen right then, in front of that wall, for that exact reason. It was then that I learned to cool my temper before arguing with her. She was a hot-blooded Irish wench, y'know."

"I'm sorry, sir. That will never happen again." Mary-Michael was just about to ask how he knew of their spat, but Mr. Watkins next words caught her by surprise.

"The Captain's already come by and explained about the accident and apologized about the door. He's promised to have the lock repaired." She was more than a little surprised that Lucky had already been to her home to speak with Mr. Watkins.

Her husband put his hand on the small stack of papers in front of him. "I'm likin' the lad more each time we meet. Told him he needed to cool his temper some if he was to ever have a harmonious home life." He lifted the pages he'd been reading and organized them.

She wanted Lucky to have a happy life, she really did. And as much as her heart broke when she thought about his happy future, she knew it could never be with her—because she could never leave Indian Point and he would likely forever be wed to the sea. He was English, and she doubted he would move to America, and she could never leave her home. She'd never lived anywhere else. It was the home of her only family member, George, for however long the church kept him here. It was the home of her friends, Becky, Cady and Sister Elizabeth. Most importantly, it was also home to Watkins Shipbuilding, her husband's legacy to the world. It would be hers one day, unless she could bear a son and her husband could leave it in trust to her son.

"You might want to read these." Their gazes met and she got a sinking feeling as soon as he shoved the stack across the surface of the desk toward her.

Leaning forward, she took them and settled back into the depths of the buttery-soft cushioned leather. When she'd started, she immediately recognized the legal jargon and knew she held an offer for the purchase of Watkins Shipbuilding. "Who is this one from?" She flipped through the pages looking for a name and finally saw one. Nicholas Barlowe, Esq.

Her hands shook and her mouth went dry. "Again? Please tell me you aren't considering this."

"No, no. Look at the other one. It came yesterday. That one is from a man I know up in Halifax, wanting to move into the Chesapeake market and move his son down here. His offer is quite generous. But, I thought to leave the decision up to you," her husband said softly.

"Watkins Shipbuilding is not for sale," Mary-Michael insisted.

Her husband gave her a sympathetic look. "I want you to consider this offer, if you consider no others. Jorgensen is a good man." Mr. Watkins' lips turned up a little at the corners. "There is one benefit to selling the yard, Mrs. Watkins. And that is, it leaves you free to do as you wish after I die."

Tired of fighting the tears that seemed to fall so readily lately, they finally spilled freely down her cheeks. "Everyone is going to die someday, sir. But... you cannot die just yet. I still need your guidance and—"

He sighed and rested his thin, frail body deeper into his chair. "Oh, my little dear one," he began, shaking his gray head. "There is much I haven't told you, since I didn't see you last night." He closed his eyes and focused on taking a deep breath. She'd seem him struggle with deep breaths lately, coughing unless he willed the cough not to come. "I went to that old saw-bones yesterday to ease Sally's mind. He said I might have as much as few months left."

The worst day ever just got worse. And now he wanted her to consider selling the shipyard. For her own good? Never. This wasn't just his business, it was the largest employer on the point. More than half the men of the village and surrounding area worked for her husband. The other half worked for Barlowe Marine, or the services necessary for the operations of both shipyards. Mary-Michael would be damned if Barlowe would take this shipyard to build warships. She and Mr. Watkins had proved there was a strong market for vessels other than ships of war. By the time she'd left her husband's office, she'd convinced him to not entertain any offers to buy Watkins Shipbuilding.

Mr. Watkins stopped her just before she left. "There's no time for tears, Mrs. Watkins. You've got to hurry with that project of yours because my days are numbered."

 

T
he next evening, after successfully hanging every sail on both completed clippers, Mary-Michael, Ian and Lucky toasted each other as Mr. Watkins entered the parlor. Her husband gave her a curious glance. "You would start the toasts without me, Mrs. Watkins?"

"Sir, this was but the first of many toasts we will share tonight," Mary-Michael said through her smile. "This was honoring the completion of Captain Alexander's
Lady S
, and Captain Gualtiero's
Lady M
. Tomorrow we take the
Lady S
dancing. I would very much like for you to attend." Even as she said the words she prayed his health would sustain him through two long days at sea. If, after the first day, her husband was over-taxed from a day in the sun and wind, she thought to postpone the trials for the second ship until he'd rested and revived his constantly diminishing energy. She worried about him because he'd never been a man to nap—much less take two or three during the course of one day.

"I wouldn't miss either one, Mrs. Watkins," her husband stated, just as the two priests arrived. "Gideon and George," he said, "have a glass of wine. We're toasting the Captains and their ladies. The first is making her debut on the morrow."

Mr. Watkins motioned for Victor to assist him in standing. He looked at Ian. "I'm sorry your da couldn't be here to celebrate with you in person, but rest assured he'd be a proud man today, lad." Her husband glanced over to her, then to Lucky and the two priests. Raising his glass, her husband said the words of one of his favorite old seaman's toast. "The wind that blows, the ship that goes, the lass who loves a sailor."

Glasses were raised, and cheers for good fortune went all around the room. Mary-Michael was certain her cheeks were as dark red as her hair. She knew the toast was far older than her, but in that moment she felt her husband spoke of her heart as it pertained to Lucky.

Desperate to avoid Lucky's gaze, Mary-Michael watched Ian swallow hard. Likely he fought the sentiments brought up by mentioning his parent. She knew that, for her at least, hearing someone acknowledge her parents still brought up emotions in her. She could imagine it was no less for Ian.

Ian cleared the emotion from his throat. "Speaking of my father," Ian said, "I went to visit his grave on the way here. It was exactly where you said I'd find it."

"I'm glad you had a chance to pay your respects." This came from the elder priest, who took a seat next to her husband on the settee.

"You were in school when he died, lad," Spenser said. "It would have been impossible to wait for you to come for his funeral." Her husband elbowed Father Douglas in the ribs as he remember the day. He gave a chuckle. "Ah, but we gave that ornery Scot a right proper Irish send off, didn't we, Gideon?"

Father Douglas nodded his gray head. Ian turned from her husband to the priest, and asked, "How did my Presbyterian father manage to get buried in a Catholic cemetery?"

"Yer ma was of the faith," Father Douglas said, "and your da said he didn't care what hole we threw him in when he died, so we put him as close to your ma as we could, with your wee siblings between them."

"I appreciate that, thank you," Ian said softly. Mary-Michael's heart went out to the man who wasn't allowed, for some archaic reason pertaining to the title he inherited, to live with his father. Lucky told her Ian had been born in Maryland and because of the laws of inheritance, was forced to give up his American citizenship in order become the second Earl Mackeever. There wasn't a force in the world that could make Mary-Michael give hers up. Why, people came here from all over the world for a better life.

Just then Victor came in to announce dinner being served and everyone went into the dining room. Once the blessing had been said, talk soon turned to the sailing the following day.

"I wish I could go with you all tomorrow," Father Douglas said, "but I've been called into Baltimore to see the bishop. So duty trumps pleasure."

"And because he's gone, I have to officiate all the services until his return," George added.

"Well there is still one more lady to launch," Mary-Michael said, "so you're forgiven missing this one. The day after tomorrow, I want you to come with us when we sail the
Lady M
for the first time."

"If Gideon is back, I wouldn't miss it," her brother replied.

Mr. Watkins leaned toward Mary-Michael and whispered, "Did you get those things we ordered from the German?" She nodded, remembering to pick up the gifts they were going to give the two captains. Mr. Watkins nodded and whispered, "What would I have done without you these last years?"

"I don't know, sir," she replied, as she turned her attention to their first course.