Dark Journey Home (7 page)

Then in a loud and angry voice had demanded that Maria
marry him at once.  Well, that had been what she had been waiting for. 

Logan
laughed so hard
at the story, thus making every bone and muscle in his body ache even more, but
then he looked up and finally saw the face of an angel standing near his
bedside once again. 

Lord Beckford saw the sudden look that Logan was giving Olivia, and then the slight flush that came to Olivia’s cheeks, as she
then busied her hands with attempting to pour a mug full of hot coffee. 

“Do you take sugar, sir?”  She casually asked him.

“What?”  He stuttered.  “Sugar?”  He looked at her
with a dazed expression, not understanding the question. 

Agitated, she said, “In the coffee, sir, and perhaps
cream?” 

Logan
then realized
what she had meant, and that the angel that he had seen in there before, must
be the niece that Lord Claude had spoken of.  He wondered if he had been
outspoken the day before, but couldn’t remember much, only that he’d thought
he’d died and gone to heaven when he’d looked into those silver-blue eyes.

Lord Beckford was amused by the sudden sparks between
his niece and the ‘patient’, and decided to smooth things a bit, saying, “Logan,” he began, trying to hide the grin that kept forming, “I would like for you to meet
my niece, Olivia Worthington, and, Olivia, and this is Logan Wakefield.”

“How do, ma’am.  I’m much pleased.”  Logan said, his
voice now deep and somewhat stronger, smooth as silk, now that he was healing. 

“So nice to meet you, Mr. Wakefield.  Now about the
coffee?”

“Oh, yes…” he finally managed, then reached for the
mug of steaming brew.  “Actually,” he explained, “just black will do, ma’am.  I
just hope it’s strong enough to sink just about every pirate ship on the sea. 
Also, thanks again for helping me back there in London.  It was very kind of
you and your uncle to take me in like that, and I can never begin to repay what
you folks have done for me.” 

Logan
was sitting up
now, leaning on several bed pillows which had been propped against the
headboard, and he now sipped the strong black coffee, the first he’d had in
eight years.

“U’mmm,” he sighed.  “I honestly can’t thank you
enough for this.  And I think even my mother thanks you, although I haven’t
seen her in years.”

Olivia stuttered, “Well, Mr. Wakefield…..I’m glad I
have pleased your mother.” 

Logan
grinned, as he
took another deep swallow of coffee, and Maria decided to take her leave at
that time.  She informed them that she would send Ricardo in soon, but she wasn’t
sure anyone was listening. 

Lord Beckford also left then, after assuring Logan that his niece would read some of her favorite poetry to him, also informing him
that Olivia was indeed very proficient in the art of poetry reading, and he was
sure that Logan would enjoy the ‘experience’, embarrassing Olivia to no end.

Her voice was soft and melodious, her diction perfect. 
As Olivia read aloud poetry of joy, sorrow, tragedy, and of course, love, Logan listened as if in a trance.  Never before had he been so enchanted.  He’d read
poetry years ago, as his mother had kept several large volumes on a shelf in
the cozy den at the family ranch, where his pa kept a string of horses.  His pa
 made a good living at supplying horses to the army, as well as other ranches
in the area.  Logan had always enjoyed reading and listening to poetry being
read, traveling through the fantasy land of make-believe through those
fascinating rhymes. 

Two of the poems that Olivia had read aloud, he’d been
very familiar with, Longfellow’s ‘Song of Hiawatha’.  He whispered some of the
verses quietly, as Olivia read, as he knew parts of the long poem by heart. 
However, if Olivia heard him, she made neither comment, nor hesitation in her
reading.  The other ‘The Wreck of the Hesperus’, was poetry of a sea adventure,
deep and fascinating.    

 Much later Olivia noticed that Logan’s eyes had
closed, his breathing even.  Her soft voice had relaxed him, and he was now
dozing.  She hadn’t realized the effect she’d had, and wondered if the poetry
reading had bored him, however it was quite the opposite. 

Just as she closed the volume, and stood to leave, Logan opened his eyes, and spoke softly, his sultry green eyes heavy-lidded with sleep,
and he said, “You needn’t have stopped reading, Miss Worthington; I can hear
you even in my sleep.  Your voice is very soothing, you know.”

“Oh.”  She started, “I was afraid you may have become
bored.  Some gentlemen do not care for poetry reading, so I wasn’t sure of your
reaction to it.”  She flushed, suddenly uncomfortable with his green-eyed gaze
so intent on her. 

Though he said, “Quite the opposite ma’am.  I haven’t
heard a lady read like that in many a year.  Brings back memories of home, as
my ma’s a great fan of poetry, in fact some of the ones you just read are very
familiar to me.  She read to me a lot when I was very small, and then I picked
it up as I grew older, even when they sent me back to the east coast to further
my schooling when I was in my early teens, I did a lot of reading in school
too.”  Logan gave a grin as he finished.

“Oh, well I’m glad you enjoyed my reading then, and
that you are so well educated.”  She didn’t mean for the words to come out the
way they did, and then she gave a slight nervous laugh, making Logan frown at her unknowing wit.  So Olivia quickly added, “I do have many volumes at
home, although I did bring several more with me, so if you don’t mind, I’ll
read a bit every evening, that is until you’re back on your feet.”

“I would like that a lot, Miss Worthington.”

“Very well.”  She stood up straight, trying for some
sense of control, just as Ricardo tapped on the door, then walked into the room
to stay the night with the patient.  Olivia nodded to Ricardo, then clutching
her poetry volume, she left the room.

Ricardo approached the bunk where Logan lay, and
grinned, “The señorita, she reads well, no?”

Logan
answered, “Si,
Amigo, she does indeed.”  Then he motioned to the large package Ricardo was
holding, “What have you there?”

“Oh this, Señor.  Lord Beckford sends his regards, in
the form of a new outfit of clothing, and there is more in his stateroom for
you.  As the clothing you were wearing were in tatters, and were well disposed
of out to sea, he felt that you couldn’t very well wear the night shirt you
have on, when you go to his stateroom.  Folks may talk, Señor, and we wouldn’t
want that to happen now would we?”  Ricardo laughed at his own humor. 

“Well, I am tired of lying around, and my shoulder is
much better, and the fever seems to have gone.”  Logan told him, “So tomorrow I
may try to get around some, get my sea legs back again.  I’m not used to being
so indisposed.  Tell Lord Beckford that I thank him once again for his
kindness.”

“You will see him mañana, Señor, as he said that if at
that time, you can walk around, he will expect you to move into his stateroom. 
He can then explain to whoever asks that you were expected to arrive from the
last port we stopped at, and then had joined him here on the ship.  We had to
let off some passengers there anyway and also take on more supplies before
crossing the great expanse of ocean.  If no one saw you board the ship at that
time, well they just weren’t being observant.  Also he will tell that you have
been employed by him for quite some time, and this meeting was pre-arranged,
and that you will be working as his ‘valet’ in his stateroom, and then
traveling on with him through the states, and other territories of the
Americas. 

“Oh, and Lord Beckford also said he would have several
pairs of boots for you to try on for fit, as the ones you wore had not enough
left of them to even toss out to sea.”

Logan
yawned, and
replied, “That sounds real fine, amigo.”

Ricardo set the bundle of clothing down, then prepared
to retire to the other bunk, when Logan suddenly exclaimed, “Wait…..No, you
didn’t toss my boots overboard, did you?”

“I think not, Señor, but no let me go look.  But why
should you want them?  They were beyond redemption, though I will check.”

He opened the door to a small closet, and found the
battered pair of boots that Logan had worn for years, and holding them far away
from himself, Ricardo walked over and showed them to Logan, saying, “Here, Señor,
did you wish to tell the boots goodbye before I toss them from the porthole,
far out to sea.”

“No, no, thank God they’re still here though.”  Logan breathed, and heaved a sigh of relief.

“You want to keep them for sentimental reasons, Señor?” 
Ricardo was puzzled now.”

Logan laughed, “No, not that either, mi amigo, it’s
just that in the lining of the left boot, is a paper that I have kept well-hidden
all these years, and it’s more then just for sentimental reasons too.  If you
can hand me a knife, or something to cut into the lining with, then you can
toss the boots through that porthole, and good riddance.  Or maybe still, I can
move around enough to do the deed myself, if you’ll just open it for me. 

Ricardo understood Logan’s reasoning then, and quickly
assisted him in retrieving the worn, yellowed paper from the lining of the
boot.  Logan looked over the weathered receipt, made out all those years ago
for the bags of gold dust he had deposited in the Seattle bank, then folded it
carefully, and tucked it under his pillow, although he hoped that his pa had
taken at least some of the money out, and put it to use by now, as he had put
pa’s name on that account too.  Thankfully he’d wired him all the information,
along with the account number, the amount deposited, along with the name of the
bank, before he’d been shanghaied. 

He wasn’t even sure of starting a cattle ranch now,
although that had been his dream for so many years, years of backbreaking labor
trying to save for the ranch.  Maybe he’d just help pa for awhile now, with his
horses, as he wasn’t sure of his parent’s health after so many years.  Maybe
they’d need him at home.  Logan thought how surprised his folks would be in
hearing from him now, and wasn’t sure if he should wire them from New York, or just show up at the horse ranch in Wyoming.  Well, there was plenty of time to
think of what to do, as the years behind him had been long.  In just a few more
weeks he would be home, thanks to Lord Beckford and his niece, Olivia.  He
thought of the blue-eyed beauty, with the golden-blonde hair.  Well, he can
dream anyway.  “She’s not for you Logan.”  He thought to himself.

After the ceremony of seeing the last of the old boots
flying well out to sea from the small porthole, then bouncing out across the
dark expanse of water, Logan fell into a deep sleep, to dream of poetry, and
the gentle voice of a beautiful woman, a sound he hadn’t heard in more than
eight years, if he had ever heard a voice that sweet and soothing before. 

<><><> 

The days flew by, and Olivia busied herself with her
sewing, books and embroidery, writing a few letters to be posted later on when
they landed, and often on an evening she would stroll the deck with her uncle,
to gaze out to the never-ending expanse of sea.  They had only gone through one
bad storm so far, two days back, though it hadn’t done much to damage the ship,
as the liner had been expertly built to withstand even the worst of gales, and
Olivia had kept to her staterooms during the worst of the storm. 

The weather was only a bit cool now, though sunny and
nice, and very refreshing, as one evening she stood at the rail with her uncle,
she said, “No one has seen anything of the scoundrel, Henry Adams, or Birch,
whatever his name is now?” 

“Not out on deck, Ollie, as I believe the man is
trying his best not to be seen.  Though I have had word from several of the
crew members.”  Claude gave a slight laugh and lowered his voice, as he
continued.  “It seems that the aging gentleman, named Henry Birch, has
attempted on several occasions, when a member of the crew was tending his
cabin, or bringing his meals, to bribe that person with a few measly coins, to
watch our movements, and try to find out just where we are headed.”