The Sister Wife (5 page)

“You heard about us before you got on the boat?” Pearl breathed. “Truly?”

“Truly.” Bronwyn pulled the door closed behind her.

Mary Rose wouldn't have believed the change in the girls if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. Their soft voices trailed off down the hallway, and Mary Rose stared at the closed door. She didn't know whether to be thankful or envious.

It took her less than a heartbeat to choose the former. How could anyone not be completely charmed by Bronwyn Carey, whether Pearl, Ruby, or herself? She smiled thinking of their laughter together. She'd never had a friend; and just now, the thought swept through her heart: If she ever did find a friend, a soul mate, to laugh and share secrets with, Bronwyn Carey would be just the kind of friend she would want.

D
arkness had fallen when Gabe knocked on the door of the captain's quarters. The captain, sitting at his writing table with the logbook open, laid down his pen, closed the inkwell, and stood to greet Gabe. The two men shook hands, then Hosea gestured to a chair on the opposite side of the desk and Gabe sat down.

The captain, a muscular man with graying brown hair, looked every bit the master of the
Sea Hawk
.

Hosea leaned back, his hands behind his head. “I watched you climb the mast to retrieve the boy. Quite a feat. He looked determined to dangle a hundred and fifty feet in the air no matter what you did or said.” He chuckled. “I had a talk with him earlier. He promised to behave himself the remainder of the trip.”

“Or…?” Gabe grinned.

“Or I'd send him up there to stay.”

“Did he turn pale at the thought?”

“Strangely, he didn't.”

Gabe chuckled. “Sir, the boy races full speed ahead no matter what the consequences. And I've only been observing him since this morning. I've never seen such energy or fearlessness in a boy his age.”

They were close enough friends for Gabe to drop the “sir” when speaking in private, but he felt Hosea deserved the honor, despite his protests.

Hosea's eyebrow shot up. “And how many children his age—or any age, for that matter—have you been around?” He grinned, showing the uneven space between his upper and lower teeth where they clamped against his pipe. “I daresay, most seven-year-old boys have the same inclination toward mischief.” He reached into a side drawer for his pipe and tobacco pouch.

Gabe laughed again, and then seeing a shadow briefly cross the captain's face, he remembered how desperately he and his wife wanted children.

The captain tamped the tobacco and passed the match over the charred surface, puffing softly. From Gabe's observation through the years, the ritual of attaining the perfect light seemed more important to Hosea than actually smoking the pipe.

When he'd finished, he sat back in his chair, partially covered the bowl with his thumb, and drew in a couple of deep puffs. He nodded in satisfaction.

“Mr. Thorpe is at the helm,” he said. “Good night for him to take it. What are your preliminaries?”

“Eighteen knots, sir.”

Hosea smiled. “Good. Very good. Any chance we'll make it to twenty?”

“That will be pushing it, but with favorable winds, we just might make it to nineteen.”

The captain made a notation in the logbook. Then he turned up the lamp on his desk, checked the brass chronometer, and made another. Gabe gave him the details about the last sighting
of land and the position of the sun as it set. “I'll report to you again after I take new calculations with the sextant tonight.”

Hosea grinned and drew on his pipe. “I'll go with you. Can't let you take over my job completely,” he said. “We'll hope for a cloudless night.”

It was indeed the master commander's duty to see to all calculations, from the last point of visible land until they reached their destination, keeping the details of each reckoning in his logbook.

Gabe's being on board as observer and calculator for the speed record was new to them both. He grinned at his longtime friend. “I'll try to keep out of your way, sir.”

Hosea leaned back and chuckled. “You recommended me as commander of the
Sea Hawk
. That gives you rights others might not have.”

“It didn't take much to convince Cunard, sir. Your reputation preceded you.”

At the far end of the captain's quarters, through an open doorway that led to the captain's dining room, Gabe caught glimpses of Mr. Quigley, the ship's steward, preparing the table for supper, and heard clinks of china and glass as places were set.

“You're expected to join me for supper,” Hosea said. “I arranged it with Mr. Quigley.” He put down his pipe and stood. “Shall we go in?”

“Is anyone else joining us?” He knew it was the custom to invite dignitaries on the first night at sea.

“Knowing you as I do, I can say with full confidence the ‘anyone else' of whom you speak will join us for supper tomorrow,” the captain said as they entered the dining room. “Tonight is for private conversation, the topic I mentioned earlier.”

Gabe chuckled. “Your powers of observation never cease to amaze me, even after all these years.”

Hosea gave him a sly smile. “I've known you long enough to read your face like an open book. 'Tis no secret you're hoping to soon catch another glimpse of Lady Ashley.”

Gabe laughed. “Now, what would make you think I have any interest in Lady Ashley?”

Mr. Quigley pulled out the captain's chair at the end of the table and Hosea sat down, and then the steward attended to seating Gabe.

Hosea's eyes crinkled as he unfolded his napkin and tucked it under his chin. “Could it possibly be the way you two looked at each other this morning? You looked as though you'd been struck by lightning.”

Before Gabe could respond, Hosea added, “Let's ask the Lord's blessing on this food and on our voyage.”

After the captain's prayer, the steward sliced pieces off a boiled beef shoulder flavored with garlic and black peppercorns, put them on each man's plate, and then scooped up potatoes from the same tureen and placed them near the beef, adding Yorkshire pudding and covering it all with beef broth. Goblets of Madeira had already been poured and caught the light of the single oil lamp, which swung over the table with each rise and fall of the ship's movement. Hosea lifted his glass to salute the voyage, and Gabe clinked his against the captain's.

“'Tis an honor, sir,” Gabe said, raising his wine again toward Hosea's. Gabe was honored to eat with his friend this night. Traditionally, dignitaries were invited on the first night out because fresh food could only last so long in the galley hold. After a few days, the fare turned to only those things that had been pickled or salted and kept in airtight barrels.

The captain read his mind and chuckled. “I can dare to break etiquette with this group of passengers, but had Cunard's name been in the manifest, 'twould be he, not you, my friend, sitting beside me tonight.”

“And he would have been had it not been for his daughter's illness.”

“Yes,” Hosea said, “and I understand it's serious.”

“And unexpected, though he's hoping for a quick recovery. He plans to bring her aboard our sister ship for her maiden voyage next month, if the girl is well.” He grinned. “Told me himself, though half in jest, that he plans not only to beat our record but that which was set last summer by the
Annie McKim
.”

Hosea laughed. “I doubt there was an ounce of jest in his challenge—especially toward the
Sea Hawk
. That alone gives me reason to batten down the hatches and fly across the Atlantic.” He glanced toward the steward, standing near the table. “Mr. Quigley, that will be all for tonight. Thank you.”

Mr. Quigley inclined his head slightly toward the captain, and then took his leave.

The captain looked thoughtful as he took another bite of roast beef. After he'd finished chewing and lifted the Madeira to his lips, he leaned back in his chair. The glow from the overhead lantern made his face appear gaunt and lined with worry. “I am concerned about my wife, Gabe. I need your advice, your help.”

“Anything, sir. You know how I feel about you both.”

Gabe and the captain's wife, Enid, had been the dearest of friends since childhood. Both families had migrated from Scotland years before, along with most of the settlers who made up New Scotland, or Nova Scotia, as it was now called. Gabe and Enid became even closer when Gabe's mother, father, and younger sister died at sea. He'd watched them sail from the Halifax harbor not realizing it would be his last glimpse of the family he loved. He later learned that the packet ship proved unseaworthy and could not make it through the mildest of Atlantic storms. All on board had been lost at sea. When the news reached him, grief hit hard.

He'd stayed with Enid's family during the dark days of his grieving, and it was there, during long conversations with Enid, that his passion began to grow to design and build fast, unsinkable ships. Though she encouraged him to pursue his dream, her
eyes spoke otherwise. He knew she wanted him to stay on the island so they could be together.

“In Enid's last letter,” the captain said, “she spoke of notions that worry me.”

“How so?”

“I've always known of her desire to help the helpless, whether human or animal. But lately she has convinced herself she has special abilities to heal animals, whether wild or domestic.

“She's begun correspondence with a man in the new field of veterinary medicine in Glasgow. He encourages her in this undertaking, perhaps too much in my opinion. He sent her materials to study, and has written a book on the subject that will soon be published.” He sat back and steepled his fingers. “Gabe, this is no lady's profession. She has no need to tell me how she gets down in the muck and turns breech foals with her bare arm inside the mare. I can well imagine it without her words describing these procedures in detail.”

Gabe remembered how, when Enid was a child, she found a fawn in the forest, lost and starving. She slipped it into her house without telling anyone in the family, fed it goat's milk, and cuddled it at night in her bed because the little thing was shivering with cold.

“I consulted with a doctor in London who told me Enid is likely suffering from a form of melancholia, probably because of her inability to conceive. It's his theory that she is trying to make up for the pain of deep loss she feels inside by taking care of an animal's pain. He referred me to another physician who treats barren women. I talked with him when I was in London and he's willing to examine Enid.”

“Does Enid know you've done this?”

“I wrote to her last month. The letter went out on a schooner that sailed soon after with a stop in Halifax. She should receive it in time to meet us when we anchor there.”

Gabe drew in a deep breath, again remembering Enid when she was a girl: skirts hiked above her knees, feet bare, flame-colored hair blowing wild in the wind as she rode her filly Foxfire bareback along the beach when the tide was out. Her laughter was like music, her shouts joyful as she let go of the horse's mane and reached to the skies, fingers splayed, urging the filly to go faster and faster as she dug into her flanks with her heels. It was no surprise that she cared for horses, or any other ailing or injured animals. The surprise was that Hosea didn't know this about her.

“I suspect you loved her once.”

The comment brought Gabe out of his reverie. He hadn't realized Hosea was studying his face, or that his thoughts might be so transparent. “We were friends and schoolmates, confidants and explorers of the island's wild coasts and forests. Love, yes. But not romantic love, if that's what you mean.” Though even as he spoke he remembered how, as they grew older, he began to notice how her dark eyes sparkled when she saw him, the wild strawberry hue of her lips, and the way her mouth curved up impishly at the corners just before she laughed. He thought her invincible: If she'd wanted to swing from the moon, she'd have found a way.

And then there was that night just after his parents died when his need seemed too great, and Enid's love for him too dear, her heart too willing to try to make his pain go away. One night in the forest on a bed of moss their emotions overtook their senses. It never happened again; they never spoke of it.

But that was long ago and far away, a time and feeling best forgotten.

The captain offered another helping of beef to Gabe, and then reached for another for himself. He cut his meat, seemingly lost in thoughts of his own.

After a moment he continued. “I want her to see this specialist. I'm losing her to other pursuits and worry that she no longer cares to be mother of our children as we'd always dreamed.” He took
a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and then wiped his mouth with his napkin. “This physician told me it's well documented that women who have outside interests, who are educated, have a more difficult time conceiving. I don't know if I believe him—or the experts who've documented such a connection between education and childbearing. Rubs against the grain somehow. But there are treatments for barrenness, and that's what holds promise for Enid. I know as a fact how she yearns for children. She's nearing thirty, and it won't be long until it's too late to reverse her barren state. I'm hoping she'll agree.”

For a fleeting moment, the image of Enid came back to Gabe, the bareback ride across the still wet sand, the lapping of waves in the background, the shouts and laughter as she galloped. It always seemed to him that though her body tried to grow big enough to hold her wild spirit, and though her limbs grew long and lanky and she had a look of power and grace and raw-boned strength about her, her frame could never keep up with her spirit.

“I want you to convince her to come to London for treatment.”

Gabe's eyes widened and he almost choked. He grabbed the goblet of Madeira and took a hefty swallow. “Me, sir?” He laughed lightly. “That will be about as easy as convincing the moon to change its orbit.”

The captain chuckled. “Even so, my friend, promise me you'll try.”

Gabe sat back, studying the captain. “You know I would do anything for you, either of you. But isn't this a private matter? Truly, I should not be involved, sir.” Gabe sipped his Madeira again, this time more slowly. He was not one who took pleasure from drink, but aboard ship, water was a precious commodity and, after a few days out, could turn brackish and cause serious illness. “'Tis you, sir, who need to talk with her.” He put his goblet on the table, watching the glittering reflection of lamplight in the deep red wine.