If I Wait For You (5 page)

It was the whale’s last valiant
attempt to recapture life that took any joy from the kill from
West. It was the silence on the boat from the men too weary to
talk, when the whale circled the boat, one final, terrible time,
and died, its head pointing toward the sun.

West cried, tears as hot as the
whale’s blood. It was no victory, it was…tragic. If the men
noticed, they said nothing, for they knew they had a long row back
to the ship that awaited them. Later, the men joked good-naturedly
with West, congratulating him on his first kill, asking him whether
he planned to cry over every whale he killed. West had let them men
tease him, let himself smile and accept congratulations, telling
himself next time would be better. Next time he wouldn’t cry,
wouldn’t even want to.

His father heard the banter and
slapped him across the face. “You wept for a dumb animal, sissy
boy?” Some men laughed nervously, but most gave the captain a wary
look before backing away. Everyone knew you never crossed the
captain. His father ordered him tied to the mizzenmast and flogged.
He received five lashes for his cowardice. West’s only comfort was
in knowing that the men, already in fear of his father, also grew
to hate him—almost as much as West himself did.

His heart ached for Jared, who had
reminded him of his father the last he’d seen him. Jared, the only
man he’d known who could find joy in a cold, empty sea, could now
find joy in nothing. It didn’t help matters that Jared had taken
after his father in looks, deep set eyes that once crinkled with
laughter but now held a look of menace that chilled even
West.

When West allowed himself to imagine
Elizabeth on board ship, fear ripped through him. Though West knew
he didn’t love Elizabeth in the consuming way Jared had loved his
Abigail, he understood that losing her would destroy
him.

West blinked away those bitter
memories and gave Zachary a level look. “My objection is not in
having a woman on board, but a wife in truth. A wife means children
and I will not—ever—endanger the life of a child. It is why I have
not allowed anyone younger than fourteen on my ship, and why I will
not marry before we sail.”

Zachary looked thoughtful for a
moment, weighing his captain’s words, as well composing his own
response.

“
Sir, I accept your
proposal and I thank you. Sara is all I have left and I would die
before she is hurt again. There is one matter, however, I would
like to discuss.” Zachary shifted uneasily. “I know you are a man
of honor. Given that, I fear I will insult you by demanding a
promise of you. I’m quite certain my sister has never had a beau.
It’s quite possible she’s never been kissed. I want your promise,
sir, your word as a gentleman, that you will leave Sara’s innocence
intact.” Zachary’s cheeks flushed, but his gaze remained
steady.

“
You have my word and my
promise,” West said without hesitation. West knew he was not a man
who was ruled by his baser side, and aside from the nubile and
willing native girls who swam out to the ship to trade their bodies
for whatever they fancied in the ship’s slop chest he abstained. A
part of him was honest enough to admit that abstention on a whaler
was no great accomplishment. After all, the ship would often go
weeks and sometimes months before finding port. Celibacy was forced
on a whaler and West had never had his will tested, having never
been in close proximity to any woman for more than a few hours—and
then it was usually in some salon or ballroom.

Still, as he and Zachary shook hands
solemnly, he had no doubt—not even the tiniest niggling of
unease—that he would find it remotely difficult to keep his word.
He was an engaged man, after all, with his future as secure as a
whaling captain’s future could be. He departed the meeting, his
mind content with the knowledge that he was an honorable man, a
noble man even, who was saving the life of his mate’s younger
sister.

It wasn’t until some hours later when
he was checking on the girl’s well-being that the first small doubt
hit him. He knocked on his cabin door and entered to find her awake
and looking impossibly small in his bed. He hadn’t truly looked at
her, he realized, not the way a man would look at a woman. But as
he walked to his bed, he was struck suddenly by how very lovely she
was, with her gold-blonde hair curling around her, and eyes that
were the color of a Caribbean sea. She was, God help him, beyond
lovely.

How had he not noticed before? How had
he overlooked the fact how enticing those eyes were, how soft her
mouth was? Unaccountably, this realization made him angry, at
himself, his mate, and this girl who was foisted upon him and would
no doubt tempt a parish priest, never mind a young, viral captain.
Blast it all.

Sara looked up at the captain and saw
in one second that he was not pleased. She knew from her brother
about the captain’s more-than-generous proposal, and she’d
foolishly thought the captain was, if not pleased, then glad to be
able to help.

“
Your brother has told you
about my proposal I take it?” he asked.

He looked at her directly, and she
immediately felt like a gangly fourteen-year-old looking up into
the most startlingly beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. She just
wished she saw something in his deep blue eyes that told her she
was more than simply a nuisance. She thought she detected something
else in those mesmerizing eyes, something other than the obvious
scorn she saw now. Anger, perhaps? She shrank unconsciously deeper
into her pillow, away from him.

“
Yes, sir.”

“
I want to dispel any
notion you have that this will be a pleasant interlude. It will
not. You will, no doubt, be seasick and cold and miserable for much
of this journey. You will be away from home and all that you have
known for several years. You will not be allowed on deck during the
boiling. Ever. You are not to go further forward than the mizzen
mast. You are not to speak to the common sailor. Your world, Miss
Dawes, has just shrunk to the size of this stateroom, the after
cabin, the dining room and the stern of this ship.”

He stopped for a moment, allowing his
eyes to touch her face for a single breath, before again training
them on the bank of windows behind her. “You will sleep in that
bunk,” he said with a jerk of his head toward one wall. Sara
shifted to look at the bunk set into a cozy nook. It held a
mattress, blankets and a pillow, and a railing to prevent the
sleeper from rolling out of bed in rough seas.

He continued. “It is too small for
me.” There was almost a hint of apology in his voice but when Sara
looked up she saw nothing soft in his expression.

“
I am used to my solitude,
Miss Dawes. So I must tell you that I am not good company. I don’t
expect idle chit chat in the evenings. I expect you to be abed by
the time I enter the cabin for my rest.” His jaw clenched and she
could tell he’d tightened his fists behind his back by the way his
arms became suddenly tense. Or rather, she thought, more
tense.

As safe as she felt, Sara
was beginning to think perhaps she should reconsider sailing with
the
Julia
. When
her brother had explained the captain’s proposal, she felt nothing
but relief that she would be safe…and a tiny bit of excitement. She
was to go on a whaler, to see the world, to visit all the exotic,
dangerous places she’d dreamed about. Through her fear and misery,
she allowed herself that shiver of anticipation of not only the
adventures she faced, but of the long days and nights of being in
Captain Mitchell’s company. She whisked thoughts of the beautiful
Miss Smithers from her grateful mind.

His cold words, his stony expression,
dashed her girlish fantasies. Yes, West Mitchell was a grand man, a
fine captain, and handsome to look at. But the obvious distaste he
felt to be sharing his cabin with the likes of her was almost
tangible. She could almost hear her mother laughing delightedly at
her silly adolescent fantasies, those endless hours imagining
impossible things. Here was the reality: she was a little nobody in
trouble, and he was the man who was honorable enough to help
her.

As if realizing his words had somehow
wounded her, his eyes flickered down to her. “I want you to
understand, that is all.”

His tone softened slightly, and Sara
dared to look up at him, dared, even, to smile. He moved away from
her a single step.

“
I understand,” she
whispered, unable to force more than that from her aching throat.
“I’ll try not to be much bother, sir.” A thought came to her and
she brightened. “I hope I can be of help to you and your men. I can
sew and mend and cook, if need be. I’ll keep your quarters clean
and neat. My brother has told me all about whaling and its
hardships, so I believe I am prepared for what is ahead of
me.”

Sara tried to sit up, but the wound in
her neck pulled and she winced. West stepped forward and reached
out to press her gently on one shoulder, his large hand warm
through the cotton shirt she wore. That simple touch did strange
things to her, gave far more comfort than surely was
intended.

“
You must remain prone,
Miss Dawes,” he said, his tone sounding almost angry, and he
removed his hand immediately. “You lost a great deal of
blood.”

“
Yes, sir.” Sara frowned.
“It’s just that I am not used to being idle.”

“
I’m afraid that is
something you will have to get used to, for there is little for you
to do on this ship but be idle. I have a steward who cleans my
cabin and the men take care of themselves. The men do not want, nor
do they need, your help. This will be, miss, little better than a
prison for you. While I am willing to harbor you, I am not pleased
with these events. And my men, when they realize I have a female on
board, will not be please, either. I want you to understand this
before we set sail.”

Any joy Sara had felt was quickly
dashed. This would be a long and tedious journey where she would
have only her brother to talk to. She was a burden—and unwanted one
at that.

“
Have you any
questions?”

Sara stared at her hands. “No,
sir.”

“
Then I bid you good
day.”

With that, Captain Mitchell left the
room, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Her eyes strayed to the
bunk where she would sleep, only a few feet from where the Captain
would lay his head each night. This ship had once been captained by
Captain Mitchell’s brother, Zachary had told her, but after a
tragic accident, Jared Mitchell had turned the ship over to his
younger brother.

West’s brother refused to
step aboard the
Julia
after his wife and daughter died, leaving the finest ship in
the Mitchell fleet to the second son.

Sara’s eyes again went to the small
bunk where a woman once slept cuddling her daughter to her, and her
heart ached for Jared Mitchell. She tried to recall having ever
seen the eldest Mitchell, but could not remember such a time. She
did know of Abigail Hull, who had left behind grieving parents. The
Hulls moved to New York, abandoning their New Bedford mansion that
even now remained empty.

How happy the young couple must have
been, she thought, sharing this cozy little space, hearing the
laughter of a child, whispering to each other in the darkness. The
woman must have been tiny, for Sara, who stood a head taller than
most women, doubted she could stretch out completely in the space.
But she’d be far more comfortable there than West, of
course.

Sara couldn’t help but wonder what it
would have been like if West was her husband in truth. Would she
sleep in that cubbyhole? Or would she snuggle up to her husband on
this swinging bed, listening to the sea and the sounds of the sails
snapping overhead. Wincing from a sharp twinge in her neck, Sara
turned away from the bunk. She shouldn’t think of such things. Mr.
Mitchell—she must cease thinking of him as West—was was a man doing
a good deed, and any thoughts of them sharing anything were silly
in the extreme. She closed her eyes, squeezing them tight against
the sudden yearning that swept over her, fighting those cruel
questions in her heart. What if they were married? What if they
shared this bed, turning to each other in the night if only to know
that the other was still there? What if they had their own
child?

She squeezed her eyes tighter against
such foolish questions. You are a charity case. A good deed. And
nothing more.

“
Married, sir!”

West forced a smile at his first
mate’s exclamation. A bridegroom should be happy, should he not?
“Two days ago, Mr. Mason,” he said heartily.

“
But, sir. I didn’t even
know you were courting.” Oliver Mason had been on one or another
Mitchell ship for as long as West could remember. He was the only
man on board who openly disagreed with him, though he always waited
until he was out of earshot of the crew. While his second and third
mate stood squarely in front of his desk, Oliver sat in a chair,
hands braced belligerently on his bony knees. For all his
experience on a whaler, Oliver hadn’t wanted to captain a ship,
though he’d been offered the job more than once. He’d grumbled
about disliking the business part of whaling, of being beholden to
the ship’s owners, instead of simply enjoying the pleasure of
hunting whale. He was crusty and grizzled, with one eye that looked
slightly off the mark and a beard that West feared held parts of
meals long ago digested. But he was a splendid first mate who swore
he could smell a whale a mile away and who struck fear into the
hearts of the greenhands---at least until they figured out he
looked far more fearsome than he was.