Twice Loved (copy2) (26 page)

“Yes.”

“Some what?”

“Some of your orange.”

“Where’re y’r manners, Laura Dalton? Y’ have t’ ask politely first.”

“May I please have some of your orange?”

His eyes raked her body, from one breast, half-flattened by his knee, to the white flesh of her stomach, the triangle of hair, the flare of hips, then slowly back up to her face again. “I guess so.”

The orange came slowly toward Laura’s mouth, and she opened her lips slowly until at last the succulent flesh was pressed against her teeth, and she tore off a chunk with a twist of her head, all the while keeping her burning gaze on his deceptively fierce blue eyes. The pressure from his knee relaxed, and he began brushing it against her breast until the nipple rose up to meet the rough texture of the hair on his leg.

She swallowed, licked her lips, but left them parted and glistening. “Mmm ... sweet,” she murmured.

“Aye, sweet,” came his throaty reply, while his eyes did queer things to her stomach.

“It’s your turn,” she said softly.

“Aye, so it is.” His knee was gone from her breast. His dark hand moved above her, holding the orange. Its power was evident in the wide wrist, the blue veins on its back, the muscles corded from coopering these many years. Her eyes were polarized by the sight of his fingers slowly clenching about the orange. She started only slightly as the first cold droplet landed on her breast. She watched in soaring anticipation as his lean fingers squeezed, squeezed, sending the juice in a cool line down the valley between her breasts, to her navel, along her stomach, and down one thigh.

Then his head was slowly bending to her, his tongue tracing the sweet path of the juice, licking it from her while her eyelids slid shut and her heart went on a Nantucket sleighride.

He’d been five years at sea with a whaleship full of lusty men who’d had nothing more than talk and memory to buoy them over the course of the voyage. Rye Dalton had learned from listening.

And as he’d done in a loft above a boathouse and in a cooperage before a warming fire, he taught Laura new things about her own body. As he dipped his head to taste of her orange sweetness, he brought her a splendor of which she’d never dreamed. And later, he peeled a second orange and handed it to her while her eyes grew wide and she stared at his offering, then slowly, slowly reached to take it while he lay back on the grass and took his turn at splendor.

Chapter 12

THE AFTERNOON WANED, 
and they were forced to regard the bell from the church tower as it chimed out each quarter hour. They lay on their backs, each with an ankle crossing an up-drawn knee, their bare soles touching. Rye held Laura’s hand, rubbing his thumb absently in her palm.

“Do you know what I did the night before you sailed?” she asked, smiling at the memory.

“What did y’do?”

“I put a black cat under a tub.”

He laughed and pillowed his head on his free wrist. “Don’t tell me y’ believe that old wive’s tale!”

“Not anymore, I don’t. But I was so desperate, I’d try anything to keep you from sailing. But even the cat under the tub didn’t bring anything resembling a strong enough headwind to keep your ship from leaving the harbor the next day, like it was supposed to.”

He turned to study her. “Did y’ miss me like I missed you?”

“It was ... awesome. Terrible.” A solemn moment of memory passed.

He shifted his weight and rolled onto his side, laying a hand on her stomach. “Y’r stomach is rounder ... and y’r hips’re wider.”

“I’ve had your baby since you’ve been away.”

“Why didn’t y’ have one of Dan’s?”

The magic spell was broken. She sat up, curling her back and hugging her knees. “I said I don’t want to talk about him.”

Rye braced up on an elbow, studying her back. “Y’ didn’t tell him last night, did y’?”

She dropped her forehead onto her knees. “I ... I couldn’t. I tried, but I just couldn’t.”

“Do y’ love him more than me, then?”

“No ... no!” She turned with a quick flash of fire in her eyes, then once more presented her back. “Next to you he’s ... oh, Rye, don’t make me say things that will only cause us both to feel guiltier than we already are.”

“I don’t like playin’ him false any more than you do. But I won’t have y’ sleepin’ with him nights and me days and not tellin’ him it’s over between y’.”

“Rye, I know I promised, but ... but there’re Josh’s feelings to consider, too.”

He sat up and jerked distractedly at a tuft of grass. “And what about y’r feelin’s for me? Do they count for nothin’? Do y’ want me—us—t’ settle for this, sneakin’ up into the hills to make love once every month or so while Dan keeps remindin’ you y’ have an 
obligation
 t’ him and the boy?” Rye flung the grass away angrily.

“No,” she answered in a tiny voice.

“What, then?”

Miserable, she had no answer. Rye stared at the ground, realizing he had the power to tell Dan the truth and be done with it, angry with himself for even having the thought because Laura trusted him not to do such a thing. His eyes moved down her bare spine, then to her arm as she reached for her clothing.

“Laura, if we keep on this way, it’ll only get worse. I send y’ home t’ him, y’ send me back t’ my father, and everybody’s miserable.”

“I know.”

As she slipped on the first article of clothing, the chimes rang again below. Rye, too, reached for his breeches. While donning them, he watched her reach for her chemise, pull it on, and begin lacing its ribbons. Standing behind her, he could not resist asking, “Laura, does he make love to y’ often?”

She would not turn and face him. “No.”

“Since I’ve been back?”

“Only a few times.”

Rye drew a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry,” he said gruffly.

Her voice trembled, but her back remained turned upon him. “Rye, with him it’s never been like it is with you ... She spun now to face him. “Never!” Her throat worked. “I guess it’s because I ... I love him out of gratitude, not passion, and there’s a world of difference between the two.”

“And y’ll stay with him out o’ gratitude, is that what y’re sayin’?”

There were tears on her lashes now. “I ... I ...”

Rye Dalton then spoke the hardest words he’d ever said. “I won’t string this out forever. Y’ll have t’ choose. And y’ll have t’ do it soon, else I’ll be leavin’ the island for good.”

She’d guessed something like this would happen. Yet how could she tell Josh? How could she tell Dan?

“Promise!” Rye ordered, standing firmly before her, intensity in every rigid muscle of his body. “Promise y’ll tell him tonight. Then we’ll go t’ the mainland and begin divorce proceeding immediately.” At her hesitation, his words grew harsh. “Woman, you tempt me in my dreams at night, when I walk the beaches with miles between us, and every wakin’ hour of the day. T’ me you’re still my wife, and I’ve done what y’ asked—I’ve given y’ time t’ break away from him. How much longer do y’ think I can stand your livin’ with him?”

Laura threw herself against Rye and their arms clung. “I will tell him. Tonight. I promise on my love for you. It’s always been you, always, since we were old enough to know the difference between boys and girls. In my heart the vow between you and me has never been broken, Rye. I love you.” She backed away, took his cheeks in her palms, and said into his sea-blue eyes, “I promise I will tell him tonight, and I’ll meet you at the ferry tomorrow and we’ll do as you said. We’ll go to the mainland and begin divorce proceedings.”

He grasped the back of her hand and his eyes closed as he fiercely kissed her palm. “I love y’, Laura. God, how I love y’.”

“And I love you, Rye.”

“I’ll meet y’ at the ferry.”

She kissed his lips lightly. “At the ferry.”

***

The promise was still fresh on Laura’s lips as she walked up the scallop-shell path with Josh an hour later. As the house came into view, she immediately sensed something was amiss, for sitting on her doorstep was Josh’s best friend, Jimmy Ryerson. But instead of leaping to his feet at the sight of Laura and Josh, Jimmy hunkered quietly, watching them approach.

“Hi, Jimmy!” Josh broke into an excited gallop.

“Hi.” But Jimmy was all six-year-old business as he reported, “We can’t play. I gotta tell your ma something and then you’re supposed to come home with me.”

“What is it, Jimmy?” Laura questioned, alarmed now, clasping his shoulder.

“They couldn’t find you, and they said I was s’posed to sit here and wait till you come home and tell you to go down to Straight Wharf right away.”

Laura’s eyes flew toward the bay. “Who?”

Jimmy shrugged. “Everybody. They’re all down there— your pa, too, Josh. They said your grampa’s boat, it tipped over comin’ across the bar, and they can’t find him.”

Laura’s heart did somersaults. “C ... can’t find him?” Jimmy shook his head.

“Oh no.” The words were a whispered lament, and Laura’s fingers covered her lips as she again looked down over the bay. Reactions tumbled through her in a swift succession: there’s got to be some mistake ... Zachary Morgan couldn’t possibly have capsized, he knows these waters too well ... they’ve all been looking for me ... they’ll know Rye was gone, too ... where is Dan?

“How long have they been out looking?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” Jimmy shrugged again. “I been waitin’ here a long time. They says I wasn’t s’posed to—”

But Laura cut him off with a firmer grasp on his shoulder. She turned both him and Josh toward the path, ordering, “You go down to Jimmy’s house and stay, like they said. And, Josh, you wait until Papa or I come for you. I’ve got to hurry down to the wharf and find him.”

Josh’s eyes widened. “Wh ... what’s the matter, Mama? Is Grampa all right?”

“I don’t know, darling. I hope so.”

Sensing tragedy, Josh suddenly balked. “I don’t wanna go to Jimmy’s house. I wanna come with you to find Grampa and Papa.”

Though each passing second felt like an hour, Laura went down on one knee and brushed her son’s hair back in a gesture of comfort. “I know you do, darling, but ... it’s best if you go with Jimmy. I’ll try to come for you soon.” She gave him a reassuring hug, forcing herself to appear calm for his sake while every muscle in her body was tensed to run.

At last Jimmy came to Laura’s aid. “C’mon, Josh. My ma made poundcake and she said we could both have some when we got back.”

The mention of poundcake at last put Josh’s skepticism to rout, and he turned down the path toward Jimmy’s house. Laura stared unseeingly at their backs for a moment, suddenly reluctant to make the journey down the hill herself. She pressed a hand to her lips, shut her eyes, thinking, No! no! This is all some ... some silly little boy’s mistake!

But a moment later she hiked up her skirts and flew like a windjammer before a gale—down the scallop-shell path, along the sandy lanes, onto the cobblestones that echoed the alarm of her running feet as she crossed deserted Main Street Square and ran on toward the blue water of the bay, where masts had come to harbor for the night. The closer she came to the wharves, the greater grew her terror, for she saw a crowd gathered there, all faces turned toward the bar, where nets were stretched between bobbing dories. She realized, too, that the wind had switched to the north, pushing the ocean before it. The bar, always treacherous, was more so when the winds blew northerly. Yet it seemed impossible that the bar could have wreaked disaster, for from here, the breakers did not look high enough to pose a threat.

Laura shouldered her way through the crowd. Murmurous voices trailed after her, and eyes watched her progress.

“Here she is now.”

“They’ve found her.”

Somber expressions turned her way as she lifted her skirts and edged toward the end of the wharf. Laura flashed pleading glances to one person after another while moving woodenly through the group, seeking a single face that did not reflect disaster. Her breath fell in bellowlike heaves after her headlong run, and her eyes were wide and sparkling with fear. “Wh ... where’s Dan? What happened?”

A sympathetic hand touched her arm, but it seemed they’d all lost their tongues. Laura wanted to scream, shake someone, force at least one voice to speak!

“Where is Dan?” The words sounded strange, for her throat was tight with rising hysteria.

At last someone answered.

“He’s out lookin’ with the others.” It was old Cap’n Silas who spoke. He surveyed the knot of people at the end of the wharf—the family—while Laura’s knees turned to water and she put off going to them.

She clutched Cap’n Silas’s wiry arm. “H ... How long have they been looking?”

“Near two hours now. Y’ mustn’t fret, girl. All y’ can do is wait with th’ rest of us.”

“Wh ... what happened?”

Silas clamped his teeth hard on his cherrywood pipestem, turned rheumy eyes toward the waters of the bar, and replied tersely, “Pitchpoled.”

“Pitchpoled?” Laura repeated disbelievingly. “But how? Was he alone?”

“With his brother Tom, as usual. But Tom was thrown clear. He’s out there lookin’, too.”

Again Laura’s eyes were drawn toward the searchers. Tom was out there looking, too? Searching for his own brother after the two had fished these waters together all their lives?

“But how?” Laura repeated, raising pleading eyes to Cap’n Silas. “How could a thing like that happen when they know every whim of these waters?”

“Overloaded ’er bow,” Cap’n Silas answered flatly. He’d been a whaler for forty years, and after those forty had taken up his station as guardian of these wharves. He had seen everything that could happen along them. With the grim acceptance of one older and wiser, he’d come to understand that life and death meant little to the sea. If a man worked by it, he knew he might die by it. A fickle bitch, the sea.

“Good catch today,” he went on, scanning the horizon. His voice was like the crackle of an old salt-caked tarpaulin. “Stayed out t’ bring in a few more barrels, Tom said. Knew she was yawin’, so they shifted a little weight to ’er stern before they hit the bar. But not enough. Wave caught ’er and flipped ’er end over end like a clown doin’ handsprings.” He puffed once on his pipe. “Tom was the only one surfaced afterwards.”