The After House (10 page)

Eli was an important part of the community now, not just another tar on a whaleboat. He was a captain, a businessman like Fred Allen, who ran the paper mill, or Josiah Banks, who owned the flour mill. He lived in a town that was being noticed because of whaling. The natural harbor made it important. He loved the little village, now bustling with excitement caused by the Jones brothers. They had invested in a whole fleet and were on their way to putting Cold Spring on the map. There was a need for whale products, and they lived in the center of the world right now. They had to take a chance.

“Don’t you see, Sarah?” He held her away at arm’s length, looking at her piquant, heart-shaped face. “We finally caught the great wave. The Joneses understand what a perfect gift our little harbor is. They are buying a fleet, Sarah! A fleet of whaling ships all leaving from here. Already people are moving in—barrel makers, sailors, merchants, chandlers—all to feed this new industry.”

“We don’t need it,” Sarah replied petulantly. “The Hewlett-Jones grist mill provides plenty of work. What do you need to kill all those poor whales for?” She stuck out her lower lip. “I don’t care if I live in a root cellar if it means you’ll stay home. Eli, I miss you dreadfully.” Her face turned blotchy, and he knew tears simmered beneath the surface of her smoldering blue eyes. He hated when she cried. It twisted him all up, staying with him long after he went to sea.

Trying to distract her, Eli spun her around to a lamp hanging in the corner of the parlor. “Poor whales? Like reading late into the evening? Whale oil is progress, Sarah mine. Whale oil lets us work into the evenings, get more things done. It helps us grow.” Eli’s dark eyes gleamed with excitement. “The oil lubricates the machines that made the cotton for your dress.” He picked up a dainty parasol resting on the table, opening it with a snap. “Why, the spokes for your little umbrella are made from whalebone. The city of New Bedford is already being called the ‘City That Lights the World.’ No part of the beast is wasted. The spermaceti from the whale’s head is used to make smokeless candles. Don’t you want to be part of this new age, Sarah? I don’t want to haul sacks of flour until my back breaks.” His dark eyes implored her. “Sarah, if I don’t do it, someone else will. Sweeting, I want you to live in luxury.”

“No, you want to go chasing after your adventures whilst I stay here and give birth to your son!” She rested her hand on her bulging belly. “Charlotte hardly knows you.” The threatened tears spilled. She was not a pretty
crier. The color traveled down to her neck until everything from hairline to bodice was beet red.

Eli pulled her close. “Charlotte knows her papa very well.” He kissed her nose gently. “I didn’t want to leave you pregnant, Sarah. I didn’t want to the last time, and I don’t now. I have little choice in the matter.”

Sarah sniffed resentfully, her eyes downcast.

Guilt assailed him. She was in a delicate condition. He had no right to make these demands on her, yet so many women did it without complaint. Why couldn’t she make it easier? His heart was breaking too. He tipped up her chin, whispering against her lips.

“I mean to make you a wealthy woman. I owe a responsibility to your father. I have a job to do, Sarah.” He grazed the tops of her ample breast with the pads of his fingers. Lowering his fingers into her bodice, he caressed the whalebone busk sewn into her garment, close to her heart.

“I love you, Sarah. You are my life.” He touched the busk, his eyes gazing into hers. “Haven’t I carved those words to lay next to your heart?”

“And the two shall become one flesh.” Sarah whispered the private words Eli had carved onto her busk during his last voyage, for her eyes only. All the sailors did it for their sweethearts. The women sewed the whalebone busks into their chemise to wear close to their hearts. Their hands entwined over the busk.

“One flesh, Sarah mine.” He bent down to kiss her, their tongues dancing in the age-old movement of
passion. “I will not be gone four years this time. I will be back within eighteen months. It’ll go fast, I promise.”

“Mama!” Charlotte called from outside. “Thaint Johnth ith ringing the bellth again. We will be late.”

Eli laughed at his daughter’s lisp. “It’s bad. I hardly understand her.”

“By the time you come back, she’ll have all her adult teeth,” Sarah said pertly, her eyes sparking.

Eli wrapped his wife’s cape around her shoulders. “I love you, Sarah. I love our family. I wouldn’t do this if I had a choice.”

Sarah grabbed her reticule with resignation. She wanted to tell him everyone had choices. They just made different ones.

Cold Spring Harbor, 2014

eard you had a break-in last week.” A man stood in the entry of her studio, shaking the dusting of snow from the slouchy hat he wore. He tugged off his glove with very straight, white teeth while he stamped the powdery snow from his feet on the mat outside the door.

“Excuse me?” Remy walked over gracefully, holding her broom so tightly her knuckles turned white. She was barefoot and the cold air made her toes go numb. She curled them up. “Do I know you?”

She tilted her head, looking at him hard. The air seemed to thin, and her breath hitched. Once, when she was about Olivia’s age, she had fallen from a treehouse. The ground had rushed up to knock the air from her body. She had the same breathless feeling now. The world tilted, just a bit, and she lost her center.

Pausing, she inhaled deeply, counting in her head, restoring her equilibrium. She stared at his face, feeling something, as if the atmosphere had gelled around them.

“Well, no, no, really, and…” He backed away at her aggressive stance. “Are you quite all right? I’m not going
to hurt you.” He held up his hands defensively. “Your mother suggested I stop by.”

“My mother?”

He extended a long, tanned hand. “Hugh Matthews. How do you do?” He had a slight British accent, just enough to let you know he’d spent some time there. He filled the small studio with his height. He wasn’t big like Scott, but more lanky, with an endearing awkwardness, as though he hadn’t grown into his body yet. His brown hair was long, bordering on shaggy, and he flipped it back with a wave of his head. Penetrating slate eyes watched her intently, but it was his well-shaped lips that drew her gaze. He had the sexiest lips she had ever seen on a man.

Remy caught herself staring as he spoke, realizing she was gawking like a horny teenager.

“You’re from England?”

“No, no, my mother was born there. They sent me to my grandparents for the summers growing up. I’m afraid it’s all her fault. Does the accent bother you?” He looked down at her, his gaze intent. “Can I come in?”

“No,” Remy blushed, then laughed. “I mean, yes, you can come in, and no, your accent doesn’t bother me. I didn’t mean to be rude.” The air crystallized in frosty clouds when she spoke.

Hugh shifted from one foot to the other, his clear gray eyes assessing her. Remy smoothed the wild curls, wishing she had blown them out this morning rather than let them air dry into a tumbleweed mass. Absently, she brushed at a spec on her cheek, smearing the smudge to cover her cinnamon colored freckles.

“Charming, not rude.” Hugh smiled, causing a sea of butterflies to erupt in Remy’s midsection. Remy got flustered, dropping the broom. They both reached for it, and their heads collided with a loud whack.

“Oops,” said Remy.

“So sorry. I’m clumsy.”

“No, it’s my fault,” Remy said as they wrestled with the broomstick, then looked at each other, smiling shyly.

Hugh held his hands up in the air. “I give up. You win.” He cocked his head. “I meant to come by sooner, but I’ve been busy with some antiques that have been donated.” It sounded like a lame excuse, and they both knew it. He was here because her mother had bugged him to come. Remy rubbed the sore spot on her forehead where they’d collided, her face red with embarrassment. She pressed down so hard on the broom that the bristles bent.

Hugh cleared his throat in the uncomfortable silence. “Looks like you’re between classes. Would you like to get a drink?”

Remy looked at the clock. “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning.”

“It doesn’t have to be alcohol.” Hugh grinned, looking like a boy. Remy’s breath stilled in her chest. “Tea shop’s right down the street. Starbucks is around the corner, if you prefer.”

“Did my mother put you up to this?” Remy asked baldly, then gasped at her boldness.

Hugh smiled a lazy grin, then laughed. “Well…yes. Not very polite of me to admit, but I believe honesty is
the best policy.” He paused, his eyes dancing with mirth. “I have to say that I’m glad I finally took the time to meet you. What about that drink?”

“I…” Remy reached in her mind for an excuse. Any number of things popped into her head, but the appealing gray eyes made her reconsider for a minute. Hugh waited expectantly. Remy reconsidered her first response. There was no reason she shouldn’t go. “I’ll get my coat.”

They walked down Main Street, making sure there was a polite distance between them. Every so often, Hugh reached over to take her elbow, helping her over the ice remaining on the frozen sidewalk.

“They’re supposed to put salt out,” he said.

Remy smiled, wondering why he acted as though it was his responsibility. She nodded at his small talk, moving a shade closer to hear his smooth voice. He gave her a commentary about the tidy shops they passed, pausing here and there to point out something of interest. It was clear he loved the town and all its inhabitants. Remy found it sweet, and interrupted occasionally to ask a pertinent question. Several times she noticed the various shopkeepers wave to him in a friendly matter.

He stopped a time or two, shaking hands, asking a question, but overall it appeared the man was simply adored by everybody. She expected bluebirds and butterflies to hover over his head while angels sang. It was really too much. She wished she had worn her new yoga pants, the ones that hugged her body, rather than the tired ones she had on. Hunching her shoulders, she made herself small, feeling unlovely next to this lovely man.

Hugh held the door open. He ducked ever so slightly when they entered the cozy tea shop. The bell announced their arrival. Hugh placed his hand on her back and led her to a small table. Remy’s skin sizzled when he touched her, and her face reddened. He was greeted warmly by the proprietor, a heavyset woman with a belly as large as her chest. The woman insisted they move to a bigger table, covered with flowered chintz, near the counter.

Remy sat quietly listening as Hugh chattered away with Mrs. Travis, discussing the drainage problem troubling Main Street. It was the same place she had met her parents a few weeks ago. Every so often, Mrs. Travis would narrow her beady eyes, as if she were measuring Remy, only to find her a poor specimen. She wished she could disappear into the cabbage rose wallpaper.

Hugh informed her the shop had been in operation for almost a hundred years. They made all their own treats and served a traditional British tea. Finally, Mrs. Travis excused herself to natter with another regular about her grandchildren.

They sat opposite each other, and Remy took off her coat. She turned to face him and noticed a perfect bruise forming on his forehead. Her brow furrowed with dismay. “Did I do that?” She laughed, reaching out to caress the mark.

“You have a matching one.” His fingers grazed her forehead. Embarrassed, she evaded his hand. Tea arrived, this time from a sullen-faced blonde of about twenty-three. She placed the three-tiered plate of tiny sandwiches
with a thud, glared at Remy, then sashayed back to the counter.

“Mrs. Travis’s niece. I’m afraid she’s nursing a rather horrible crush. I’m hungry,” Hugh said, piling half the sandwiches on his plate.

Remy looked after the girl, who now stared daggers in her back.

“Should I be afraid to eat?” she asked Hugh.

“What? Oh, Cynthia. No, don’t worry. She knows I’m too old for her. She’s fourteen.”

“Fourteen? She looks older.”

Hugh shrugged. “Not wiser. She quit school. I got her into a work program at the library in Huntington. She’ll be fine.”

Hugh explained he worked at the museum on a grant, which was funded by a big corporation. He had a history degree, which he admitted was pretty much useless. She listened intently, staring at his mouth shaping each word. A thick silence made her realize the lips had asked a question. Remy squirmed, backtracking the conversation, wondering what in the hell he asked her.