The Sister Wife (3 page)

Gabe caught snatches of his conversation before the winds whisked most of the words away. “Good of you to come, brothers and sisters…You'll be following soon, of course…You'll find America is a new world, your life with the Saints an exciting new…” He gave instructions that Gabe couldn't pick up, and then he gestured toward the earl and his party. “By all means, let them know you're here to see them off.”

His accent was unmistakable. And his delivery bordered on oration. A preacher perhaps? If so, a preacher as American as Daniel Boone's coonskin hat or Jim Bowie's knife. But why would the Earl of Salisbury seek him out? And who were the people standing around him? They were mostly families, and rather impoverished in appearance at that. Crossing the Atlantic by clipper ship, especially this clipper, cost far beyond what most Englishmen could even dream of paying.

He was still pondering the connection between the earl and the preacher when a child's frightened shriek pierced the air.

For a moment, dead silence hung like a pall. Then another shriek, this time louder. The carriage—with the boy on the wildly rearing gray, the little girl in the groom's seat—had lurched forward, tilting precariously. As the horse reared again, Gabe's heart lodged in his throat. The earl fell to the ground and rolled toward the safety of the wharf. But the woman, frilly hat askew, had pulled up her skirts and petticoats and, holding on to the carriage with one hand, found her footing and catapulted herself into the groomsman's box to reach the now sobbing child.

Gabe kept the rig in sight as he took the quarterdeck stairs three at a time, raced to the outer rail, swung his legs over, and shimmied down a rope. It took all of three seconds to reach the bottom, where he dropped to the wharf.

As he ran toward the landau, he listened for the sounds that too easily could follow within seconds: the clatter of the wagon wheels on the rough wood of the wharf and the terrified screams of the horses just before they plunged into the deep waters of the harbor, dragging the carriage, two children, and their mother to certain deaths.

 

“Jump!” Mary Rose scrambled to get a foothold near the child as the carriage rocked first one way, then the other. “You must jump now—to the other side. Quickly. Do it now!”

Pearl, for the first time in the fortnight since Mary Rose had taken her under her wing, seemed as immovable as a chunk of granite. Nose running and cheeks glazed with tears, the little girl stared at Mary Rose. She held her hands around the tangle of reins in a seeming death grip. Not a strand of leather remained wrapped around the brake. Mary Rose prayed the apparatus would hold just long enough to get the children to safety.

“Jump to me, then, child, jump to me!” This time she didn't wait for Pearl to act. She flung herself toward the girl and pulled her from the seat. In one swift movement as the horses reared and the carriage rocked, she dropped her gently to the ground, cried after her to run to Grandfather, and then grabbed the reins. The team, following the lead of the gray that Coal clung to, reared and neighed.

With a screech, the brake slid from its shoe and the carriage lurched.

Mary Rose made a grab for the handle but didn't have the strength to jam it into place. In one swift movement, she tightened her grip on the reins and, holding her breath, pulled back. “Whoa, boys,” she cried and then, swallowing hard, tried to use a calmer voice. “Settle yourselves. Come now, gentlemen, settle yourselves.”

The cacophony rising from the gathering spectators made the team more skittish than before.

“Help uth!” yelled Ruby from somewhere behind Mary Rose. “Thombody, help uth.”

“Jump, Coal,” Pearl cried to her brother. “You can do it. Make believe you're Davy Crockett. Jump!”

“He'th not going to,” Ruby sobbed. “He'th gonna get killed and we're not even to America yet.”

The team reared and screamed again, wild eyes rolling. Even Prince, normally as calm as a feeble old cat, rolled his eyes right along with the others and neighed in protest.

And for good reason.

Coal had started screaming like a Comanche again, clinging to the mane of the wild gray in the lead.

Mary Rose's heart threatened to stop beating. “Jump!” she yelled. Until this moment she didn't realize how much she cared about the boy. He'd been merely a relative in her charge to see to his new home. And not a pleasant relative at that. Tears stuck in the back of her throat. If the team broke loose and he jumped, he'd surely be trampled; if he held on, the frightened horse would take him with the entire team straight into the deep harbor waters.

“He'th gonna die,” sobbed Ruby from a few yards away. “Pleathe, Lady, don't let Brother die.”

The lead horse reared again, and the team, sensing freedom, bolted forward and again Mary Rose yanked back on the reins. Her gloves split as the hard leather sliced into her flesh. Instantly, her palms became wet with blood.

Standing to gain better leverage, she repeatedly yanked. And cried out another command.

Still they ran wild.

“Jump, Coal,” she shouted once more. But the boy, clinging to the gray's mane, seemed not to hear her.

The dark waters of the harbor lay dead ahead.

M
ary Rose grabbed her skirts, intending to leap onto the back of the rear horse and make her way to Coal. Her brain—in less than a heartbeat—told her it was foolish to try. The child's screams told her she had to reach him—or die trying. A man seemed to appear out of thin air, racing like the wind toward the lead horse. He grabbed hold of the bridle near the bit ring, trotted with it a few feet, and then brought the team to a halt.

Knees as weak as melted butter, Mary Rose fell back against the upholstered seat of the groom's bench.

She swallowed hard, not daring to look at the team's proximity to the harbor waters. It was enough that she heard the lapping of wavelets against the pilings just beneath the wharf.

“Ho there, Brigham,” her grandfather called out from behind the carriage. Holding the twins' hands, one on each side, he hurried toward Brigham and Coal.

Mary Rose took a closer look at the man who had saved them.

Brigham Young himself. Saint, Apostle, and missionary to
England, successful in converting her grandfather, less so in his attempts to convert her.

She took a deep breath, wondering how long it would take her to settle the question of Mormonism in her heart and soul. It had taken her grandfather only minutes, it seemed, to embrace his new faith. She remained skeptical, which according to Brother Brigham, as all other converts called him, was perfectly all right. She would come around in God's good time, he assured her.

She watched as Brigham removed Coal from the gelding and placed his feet safely upon solid ground. The boy's face had turned a fiery red, but she could see no evidence of tears. Rather, he seemed to swagger a bit as he walked toward her grandfather. As if he alone had saved them all.

Her grandfather went to Brigham, shook his hand, and then heartily thumped the apostle on the back. “Saved the day, brother,” he declared. “Or as they say in America, ‘saved our bacon.'” He tweaked Coal's ear. “And you, young man, nearly caused a severe loss of life and limb—and I daresay, not just your own. I have it in mind to send you to live with the green boys during the crossing. Learn proper behavior as well as what happens to young men who do not follow orders. Forty lashes, that's what they get.”

Her grandfather meant none of it, of course. The children likely didn't even comprehend that a green boy was merely an inexperienced seaman, usually relegated to the lowliest jobs aboard a ship. But the twins began to bawl anyway. Brigham bent down, said a few words, then patted each on the head and stood again.

Mary Rose stood to test her legs and found they seemed to have regained strength enough to hold her weight, shook the wrinkles from her skirt, looked around for her hat—which had sailed off to heaven knew where—and turned to step down from the landau.

She looked up in surprise to see Brigham standing by the groom's bench, his hand extended to help her.

“It's good to see you again,” he said as if she'd simply been on a leisurely Sunday ride in the landau.

When she was securely on the wharf, she smiled up at him. “Thank you for coming to our rescue.”

“No thanks necessary. Anyone would have done the same.”

“But no one else attempted it.” She winced as she lifted a hand to hook an errant curl behind one ear.

Brigham frowned in concern as he took her hands in his, turned the palms up, and peered at the slashes in her gloves and the raw flesh beneath. Then he moved his gaze from her hands to her eyes, his admiration clear. “You were ready to give your life to save the boy. I could see it in your every move.”

“I needed to get to Coal.” She gave him a wry smile as she repeated his words, “‘Anyone would have done the same.'”

He smiled. “You'll make a good Saint, Lady Ashley.”

She gazed at him evenly for a moment. “Perhaps.”

He lifted her hands to examine them more closely. “These cuts need to be cleansed and treated.” Before she could tell him about her honey solution, and that, yes, she had plenty, thank you, he rushed on. “In America we use a remedy developed by the fur trappers—sugar and soap made with beaver's oil and castoreum. I have some already mixed into a salve, if you would like to try it.”

She imagined the stench and tried not to shudder. “Truly, it's not necessary.” She pulled her hands away from his and smiled. “I have deepest gratitude for all you've done—not only today but during these past weeks, while seeing us through our relocation—and especially for the hope you've given my grandfather. Just the thought of stepping on the soil of the wild frontier again has made him happier than he's been in years.”

His light eyes reflected his concern as his gaze moved from her face to her hands once again. “I will send the salve.”

She fluttered her fingers. “Truly, you need not bother.”

She glanced from Brigham to where the twins played around
her grandfather, the two grooms, and three stevedores continuing to load trunks onto a cart. Pearl, loud and bossy, directed the operation, and Ruby tried her best to be understood. She'd turned red in the face and planted her hands on her waist, elbows sticking out like triangular sails. Coal was nowhere in sight, which was a worry in itself. Her heart filled with affection for her grandfather, who looked as if he didn't know quite what to do next.

She laughed lightly and said to Brigham, “As you can see, I must get back to Grandfather. Thank you again for saving our team and carriage from disaster.”

She turned to leave, but he fell in with her as she walked toward the earl. “Your grandfather asked me to employ a lady's maid for you, someone who can also serve as nanny for the children during the crossing. He also asked me to find him a butler.”

“Yes, he told me,” she said.

“I found the ideal couple, converts heading to Nauvoo. You will meet them soon after you are settled in your cabins.”

“Thank you. I'll conduct an interview and let you know if I approve.”

“Interview?” He threw back his head and laughed.

She felt her cheeks flush, and it was not from embarrassment. The man didn't know his place. She lifted her chin. “I'll meet the young couple you've hired on our behalf, give my approval if they are indeed suitable, and then let you know my decision.”

He laughed again with genuine merriment. “Interview?” he repeated. “As if we had a line of applicants for the position. Lady Ashley, you have no choice.” He was still laughing as he disappeared into the milling groups of passengers waiting to board.

 

Gabe couldn't have missed intercepting the runaway rig by more than a minute and a half. He was relieved the landau and its in
habitants were saved and, of course, thankful, but he balked at the idea that he'd arrived in second place. It didn't help that the crowd quickly and noisily crowned Brigham Young the hero of the day. The word spread quickly that he was one of the twelve apostles of the Latter-day Saints, the new American frontier religion.

Hearing that, he was even more intrigued by the interaction between Brigham and Lady Ashley. Delicate and feminine, every inch of her, but the way she jutted out her chin and cocked her lovely head while speaking with the revered leader of the so-called Saints told him she wasn't afraid to speak her mind. He liked that in a woman, and deemed her elderly husband a lucky man, though the poor old codger likely had his hands full with such a woman of spirit.

Gabe headed to the abandoned carriage. The elderly groom had taken charge of the team of grays as soon as Brigham rather miraculously stopped their forward charge. But now he appeared befuddled, holding the lead horse by the bit ring but obviously unable to leave him long enough to get to the groom's box. Gabe saw his dilemma. One false move by the team and the whole rig could topple into the harbor.

“Need assistance, old chap?” Gabe called out.

“Aye, that I do, sir.” The groom looked relieved. “After all this foolery, they're ready to bolt again. If I let go, they may run for it.”

Gabe climbed onto the driver's seat, where he found Lady Ashley's fancy bonnet squashed beneath a heap of gray pinstripe that appeared to have once been the driver's unsullied topcoat.

Gabe took hold of the reins, undid the tangle, and then held them as he'd seen other drivers do and attempted to look as if he was something close to an expert horseman.

Together they worked the team, inching forward then back, then forward again. The horses settled, but the gelding ridden by the child flicked its ears back with irritation as the driver manipulated him into position with a slap on the rump.

“I'd better stay beside 'em, mate,” the groom said once they were in position to move. “You drive, if you don't mind. Slow and easy does it.”

Gabe flicked the reins. But the team didn't move. One of the horses turned to look at him. One of the others snorted. Another danced sideways. Gabe counted his blessings that under most circumstances horses weren't seagoing animals and that his life was better spent behind a drawing board designing ships, or aboard testing their performance. He wasn't cut out to be a horseman.

He gave the team another gentle flick of the reins, and they remained as immovable as the image on a ha'penny.

By now the groom had started laughing, and just yards away, the earl's family had turned to watch. Somewhere in the vicinity of the
Sea Hawk
's gathering queue of passengers, he heard a guffaw from a knot of grinning stevedores.

“Thank you, mate,” the groom said. “I think I can take it from here.”

Gabe stepped down from the groom's box but not before reaching for Lady Ashley's frilly straw hat. He dusted it off and tried to straighten the ribbons and fluff the froth of soiled netting as he walked over to her.

“M'lady,” he said as she turned to him. “I believe you misplaced your hat.”

Her face was as fair as fine porcelain, with the slightest hint of amber in her cheeks and a sprinkling of freckles on her nose. An easy smile played at the corners of her mouth, emphasizing the dimple in her chin that made him think it must have been placed there by an angel's kiss. The merriment in her eyes quickly ripped him from his uncharacteristically romantic thoughts. She'd obviously noticed that the horses in the earl's team responded to his commands to trot by remaining as still as statues.

Gabe was so taken by Lady Ashley—from her willowy figure and slender white neck to the soft color of her upturned lips and
flecks of gold in her hazel eyes—that, for a moment, he couldn't speak. Or breathe.

 

Mary Rose gazed up into a ruggedly handsome face, bronzed by the wind and sun, and took in the touches of humor around his mouth and the corners of his eyes, the color of the ocean just before a storm. She had first noticed him minutes earlier when he hurried across the wharf to help Charles with the carriage and team: The way he carried himself told her that beneath his seagoing garb was a well-muscled and powerful body. Even so, he moved with easy grace that did nothing to diminish the sense of command evident in each stride. Except when it came to horses.

Even so, he seemed to have the ability to laugh at himself. She'd always thought that a critical skill in a man, and she'd seen his in action: no matter what command he gave the team, the geldings merely turned their heads and rolled their eyes in dumbfounded wonder. His grin and shrug as he stepped from the groom's bench, holding her crumpled hat like a prize, told her more about him than a thousand words ever could.

Now, as he stood in front of her, awkwardly turning the brim of her straw hat with strong tapered fingers, she pressed her lips together to keep from giggling. She still hadn't gotten over the look of him in the groom's seat, trying to get the stubborn team to move.

“I wondered where it had gotten off to,” she managed as he handed the hat to her.

He gave her an irresistible and devastating grin. “Your actions as you tried to stop the team—pure courage.”

Unexplainably, her fingers trembled as she set the crumpled bonnet atop her curls. “All for naught,” she said, attempting to tie the ribbons into a bow at her neck. “'Twas Brigham who saved us from certain disaster.”

“Aye, Brigham Young,” he said. “I've heard much about him just in the past half hour.”

She'd never before been drawn to a man in such a way, and in a mere half beat of her heart. She swallowed hard, blinked, and looked down as she tied the ribbons on her hat, taking great care to keep her palms from view.

When he said, “May I help you?” she didn't know whether he'd spotted her injuries and wanted to give her assistance, or if he just wanted to be in closer proximity to her.

Whichever it was, he didn't wait for an answer. He stepped nearer and she tilted her face toward his, about to forget every rule of proper comportment she'd ever been taught and nod her assent.

Then, as if on cue, Brigham Young stepped between them, his eyes bright with interest. “I don't believe we've been introduced.”

“Gabriel MacKay.” The man gave Brother Brigham a cool look of assessment and then stuck out his hand.

Brigham introduced himself, and then said, “May I introduce the Lady Mary Rose Ashley and her grandfather, the Earl of Salisbury. And please meet the children in their charge, Ruby and Pearl Ashley.” The little girls curtsied. Brigham frowned. “Earlier their brother, Coal, was with them.” He glanced around, looking a bit puzzled, and then shrugged. “A difficult one to keep track of, that boy.”

 

Gabe barely acknowledged the children or the earl as he savored the word “grandfather.” “So, Lady Ashley, you are not married,” he said, then bowed his head slightly in greeting.

Before she could respond, the earl rushed forward and stuck out his hand in a friendly greeting. “Gabriel MacKay in the flesh, I do believe. I've read about your work on the
Sea Hawk
.”