The Last Honest Seamstress (31 page)

"Billy! Don't you know how to knock?"

"I'm sorry, Captain. Didn't know you weren't alone. You've got to come. There's been a break-in at the warehouse. Police are waiting for you. Looks like we lost a lot."

Con cursed under his breath. "Meet me in the wheelhouse, Billy. I'll be out in a minute."

Billy backed out and closed the bedroom door. Con sat up. "Fayth?"

"Go."

He hesitated.

"Go. They're waiting for you; what else can you do? I'll be here when you get back."

"Fayth, I'm sorry." He grabbed his shirt. He was still tucking it in as he walked out the door.

Well, what had she expected? That fate would make things easy for her? She dressed and sat on the edge of the bed, trembling. They had almost made love. And he had not said he loved her, had not hinted that he did. Did it matter? If only it didn't.

 
In the days when she and Drew had been engaged, in the private moments Mother and Father never
 
had known about, when he had petted and fondled her, Drew had whispered his love over and over again. Yet he hadn't loved her, not the way she had wanted, not faithfully. The Captain? Well, at least he didn't make promises he didn't keep. She went to the stateroom to wait for him.

It was hours before he returned, looking shaken and defeated. She was frightened by his expression; she'd never seen him anything but calm. "Captain?"

"They took everything small enough to cart away. Cleaned me out, Fayth."

Her heart pounded. What was he saying? "I'm sorry." Fear immobilized her. She couldn't make herself go to him, but she couldn't cry either. Were they ruined? She couldn't find a voice to ask.

He slumped into a chair at the table and ran his fingers through his hair until it stuck up at odd angles. "I didn't mention it before because I was going to turn it down, but I was offered a contract to haul from Southern California to Mexico. Old acquaintance. I did some shipping for him before. I didn't want it before, but now . . .

“He needs me for four, five months. Pays well. I'm going to take it. I have to. I'll leave in the morning. Bailey will be making my mail runs."

"The goods stolen from the warehouse," Fayth said. "They aren't yours. Won't their owners be responsible for their replacement?"

He shook his head. "My customers trust me with their belongings. As long as their goods are in my care, they are my responsibility. I have to replace them or reimburse their owners, Fayth. Otherwise, I will be ruined. No one will trust me to ship for them again. No matter that someone else is responsible." He sighed. "Another couple of weeks and the warehouse would have been cleared."

Blast his honor! Blast the thieves!
 

"Of course." She blinked back tears. "I'm sorry."

He wasn't looking at her, didn't seem to hear. She knew better than to say anything else.
 

He rose suddenly. "I'll take you home now, Fayth. I'll have to come right back. I've got a lot to do if we're sailing in the morning."

"I understand." She picked up her wrap and her purse. He met her at the door where she touched his arm. "I'll be here when you get back."

Chapter 13

January 1890

Con sat in his cabin bent over a ledger, ostensibly studying columns of numbers, but his mind drifted elsewhere. The
Aurnia
rocked gently, which usually calmed his nerves. Today, nothing took the edge off. He had sent Billy away only moments before, claiming he needed to go over the books. Tetch was becoming increasingly greedy at a time when Con couldn’t afford it.
 

He should confront Tetch, warn him off his current course of not-so-petty thievery. Con's respect and love for Tetch's deceased father, Captain William Tetch, made Tetch arrogant, and gave him a feeling of invincibility. Captain Will had taken a chance on the gawky fourteen-year-old Con and had made a sailor out of him. He had encouraged Con, even lent him part of the money to buy the
Aurnia
. In return, Con had promised the dying Captain Will to look after his wayward son, Silas.

Con had kept his promise, made sure Silas went to school, saw him apprenticed as a bookkeeper, hired him when no one else would. Unfortunately, Silas had quickly developed a reputation for having one hand in the till. Now, debt of honor or not, if Tetch continued, Con would have to fire his ass.

Con's gaze swept up toward the window. The memory of Captain Will unsettled him, reminding him of the careful mask he wore to hide his vulnerabilities, his deep emotions. He sighed, remembering his greatest failure, his last night with Fayth, months in the past now.
 

Not a day had gone by when he didn't torture himself for not revealing his feelings, for not telling her that he loved her. But he couldn't be sure she loved him, even as she had offered herself to him. If only he'd seen something in her eyes besides reckless abandon. He loved her so much and had been so desperate that he'd been willing to take that, if that was all she offered. But he couldn't allow his heart to be crushed, and he couldn't risk chasing her away with his professions of love. So he had remained mute, letting her imagine what she would.
 

Even now, he couldn’t express his feelings in the letters he sent her. He knew his writing sounded aloof, businesslike, but he couldn't bring himself to bare his heart using words on a page. No, when he made his confession, it would be face to face so that he could see her response, so that she couldn't run. He had to know how she felt. The sooner, the better.

Nights brought no relief. His dreams picked up where his conscious thoughts left off. Different each night and frustratingly the same. He tried to steer the
Aurnia
into her berth, but the tide kept him out. He tried stoppering a bottle, but the cork didn't fit. He and Fayth had been so close . . .

Desire shackled him every time he thought about her arching beneath him, topless, her breasts tight and budded, bouncing, entrancing him. The feel of them in his hand, in his mouth. The arch of her slender neck, the part of moist lips. Creamy white smooth skin. He almost felt the softness of her skirts as he remembered shoving them up. How had he controlled himself? Billy's intrusion had sprinkled mere droplets on the fire of his mood and desire.

Damn thieves! Damn this business that kept him from her!

A late January rain pelted the window as Fayth sat in the Captain's office flipping through the stack of letters that had come for him. Mr. Tetch cast her furtive glances from his desk in the outer office. Weasel. She had never liked him. She should speak to the Captain about him when he came home.

Blast the break-in! She needed the Captain here, needed his reassurance, his touch. Since he had left, she had spent long hours at the shop, at her sewing machine. To her dismay, sewing no longer provided the calming effect it once had. Now she felt only a wild frustration when she pounded at the treadle. Sewing allowed too much time for introspection, for what-ifs. She wanted him home, wanted to know if he loved her. The way she did him.

She flipped to another letter, scanning it, barely seeing the text. Fearing another lapse in payment to the Captain's creditors, she had begun coming to his office to check on Mr. Tetch and make certain he left no payments outstanding. She would have taken over paying the bills herself, but the account books made no sense. She didn't have the time or the energy to straighten them out. In honesty, she didn't know if she could. And despite her hounding, Mr. Tetch seemed unable to decipher them for her. She set the letter aside and stared blankly out at the rain.
 

Please let O'Neill Shipping stay solvent.

The past week had taken a horrendous toll on her shop. Tuesday the newspaper printed an article about Fayth, condemning her for hiring a former prostitute, hinting that Coral might not be so
former.
Who had told the paper about Coral, and why were they malicious?
 

Fayth's intent had always been honorable. The same article, printed with another slant, might have made Fayth a heroine for rescuing Coral. Ah, well, what did it matter? Despite her reassurances, she lost customers. Others she kept only by slashing prices and condescending to meet them at their homes for fittings. But she couldn't keep it up much longer. Coral couldn't manage the shop alone while Fayth went out. Consequently, Fayth had to close up and lost even more business.

Fayth needed an assistant, a person to manage the place in her absence. But if the women of the city weren't willing to be waited on by Coral, who would work with her? A man could do it. But where in Seattle would she find a man with a knowledge of women's clothing, one willing to work for a woman serving women?

Thank goodness the Captain sent her money to run the household. She didn't know how she would manage without. In fact, she needed to stop by the bank and check on his latest deposit on her way home.

First she had to finish the mail. If the newspaper left it alone, maybe the whole matter would be forgotten and her customers would return. She continued sorting through the Captain's mail, picking up a letter with Con's name scrawled in a masculine hand across the top of plain white stationery.

Con,

      
You son of a bitch, you're late. Pay up before it's over.

      
      
      
      
Bailey

Fayth's stomach tightened involuntarily. The letter trembled in her hand. Not pay Captain Bailey? How could the Captain abuse his friendship by not paying Captain Bailey for making his mail runs? Who could blame Captain Bailey for his terse anger? But it didn't seem like something the Captain would do. Were things worse than she knew?
 

Fayth took a deep breath, but her hand continued to shake so hard it was difficult to read the letter. She set it on the desk. The note gave no sum owed. She couldn't confront the Captain, but the fact remained, Captain Bailey must be paid.

In a burst of frustrated anger, she called to Mr. Tetch.

Tetch poked his head in the door. "Yes, ma'am?" His tone like always was grating and polite, almost smug.

She pushed the note toward him. "Take care of this. You're more familiar with my husband's debts than I am."

"Certainly. Anything else?"

Tetch stared at her with an arrogant disdain she didn't understand, but hated all the same. "For the moment, no."

Tetch nodded. She watched him return to his desk. Enough of dealing with her husband's problems. Let Mr. Tetch earn his pay. She stuffed the rest of the letters into her bag and rose to leave, having suffered enough disillusionment for one day.

Later, at the bank, Fayth watched the teller count out her daily receipts and enter her deposit in his ledger.
 

"While I'm here I'd like to draw a draft on my personal account, and also make a cash withdrawal."

The teller nodded to a stack of paper and a pen, and kept counting. Fayth wrote out the necessary information and slipped it through the window. The teller replaced the ledger and drew another one out, flipping efficiently to her account before reading her completed withdrawal note. From the look on his face, she knew immediately that something was wrong. Her hands began to tremble.

"The Captain's deposit hasn't reached the bank yet?"

"I believe it has. There was a sizable deposit posted two days ago." The teller paused delicately. "But I'm afraid it's just enough to cover the draft you've requested. I can give you the balance of the account, but it isn't as much cash as you requested. And it will close the account."

Her mouth went dry. Her mind raced, goaded by horrible thoughts. She forced herself to speak calmly. "My mistake. Just the draft will be fine today."

"Yes, ma'am."

Jacob Finn walked by as the teller busied himself with her business. "Mrs. O'Neill! How pleasant to see you!"

"Mr. Finn."

"I was by your shop yesterday. It's a splendid looking structure."

"Thank you."

He paused. For a moment she thought he was going to ask about business or mention the article about Coral. "You picked a good husband. There isn't another man in town who could've rounded up a construction crew so quickly. Without Con O'Neill you'd still have nothing but a vacant lot."

Her mind still reeled with the weight of the teller's revelation. She fingered her purse and forced herself to smile. "I'm glad you approve of my choice, Mr. Finn."

"He's a good man on all accounts."

"Have you seen his new wharves? You loaned well on that account, too." For an instant she thought a look of confusion passed across his face. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and smiled. The teller pushed her draft back through the window to her.

"Take good care of this customer, Wilson." Jacob nodded to Fayth. "Good day, Mrs. O'Neill."

What had he been about to say? She scooped up her draft and stared at it. What was going on? Why had the Captain sent so little? She shuddered, imagining a shipwreck. Silly, he had to be all right. A dead man wouldn't have sent anything. She stuffed the draft into her purse with a trembling hand. She wouldn't think of it now. Worry would only distract her. She needed to get home, check on Coral, and finish Mrs. Terry's order.