If I Wait For You (8 page)

“
I am glad you understand,”
he said, his voice slightly rougher than usual.

“
As much as possible I will
keep out of your way, Mr. Mitchell. I will, however, begin taking
my meals with you and the other officers. As distasteful as it
obviously is to you, you have agreed to pose as my husband. It
would seem odd indeed if you are never seen in my company.” With
that, Sara turned, fighting back the sudden tears that clogged her
throat.

Once in the stateroom, she squeezed
her eyes shut, clutching the combs to her breast. She’d not cry
over him, nor over her silly lost dreams.

She washed her hands and face in the
basin, then gazed at herself in the mirror tacked to the wall above
the washstand. Her hair was a sight. Against her will, she looked
at the two hair combs she’d tossed negligently on a shelf. Before
she could stop herself, Sara smiled.

Perhaps he wasn’t so bad, after
all.

Chapter FOUR

With quick efficient movements, Sara
unbraided her hair before the mirror, then stopped as if seeing a
stranger returning her gaze in the glass. Her cheeks were flushed,
her eyes shining a bit from the tears she refused to shed, her hair
curling about in wild disarray. For a moment—just the amount of
time it takes to inhale a single breath—she thought she looked
pretty. And then she breathed, she blinked, and she was looking at
her own reflection, at Sara Dawes, the big horse of a girl that no
one wanted. Somehow, that was better, for it was familiar even if
it was slightly disappointing.

She looked at the daffodil combs,
waging an inner debate whether to wear them or not. Would he think
himself forgiven if she wore them? Silly thought. West Mitchell
wouldn’t care if she wore them or not. He simply wanted to tame her
wild curls. He found them disagreeable and so carved these combs so
that she would no longer offend him. Sara might have been able to
convince herself of such a thing if he hadn’t taken the time to
carve daffodils. They were not such a common flower that a man
would, of all the flowers available, choose to depict them on the
combs. A rose would have made much more sense, for didn’t most
women claim that flower to be their favorite? He’d known somehow
she’d favored daffodils and that’s why he’d carved them.

Sara had the awful feeling that she
should apologize to him.

A soft knock on the door had her heart
slamming once again in her chest, but she calmed when she
recognized her brother’s voice. After letting in her brother, Sara
returned to the mirror to finish with her hair.

“
Heard you got yourself
into a bit of a spot.”

Sara gave him a look of
surprise.

“
Mr. Owen. He’s got a habit
of hanging about doorways.”

“
He was eavesdropping?”
Sara said, horrified. She quickly thought back on her and West’s
conversation, knowing the two had said things that were damning.
Anyone listening the entire time would know they were not
married.

“
He wasn’t there for long,”
Zachary said quickly. “Just long enough to hear the captain setting
you down for cleaning the aftercabin.”

Sara sat down in the stateroom’s only
chair, fretting her hands together in her lap. “Who has he
told?”

“
Whoever wanted to
hear.”

Sara winced. “Then everyone.” Everyone
knew of her humiliation, knew that Captain Mitchell did not have a
care for his “wife.” Perhaps, she thought gloomily, that was
better, for she was becoming more and more convinced that she
hadn’t a care for her “husband” either. Nor did she have the
inclination to make anyone believe she did.

“
It doesn’t matter what
anyone thinks, Sara. Just as long as they don’t guess at the truth
of things.”

“
But it is only a matter of
time before they do. The captain cannot abide me. And I cannot
abide him,” she said forcefully. “We are supposed to be married,
Zachary.”

He shrugged. “Married couples fight.
Look at mother and father.”

“
That’s true. But I had
hoped I would have a better marriage,” she said glumly, before
realizing just how ridiculous she sounded. She laughed at herself,
shaking her head.

“
It is a muddle, isn’t it?”
Zachary said when he stopped laughing.

Both sobered when they heard the door
that led from the aftercabin to the dining room shut. Zachary grew
pensive and rubbed his jaw where he was allowing a beard to grow.
“I don’t want you hurt, Sara. You know that cleaning the cabin and
mending his shirts won’t make the captain fall in love with you.
You do know that, don’t you Sara?” he asked softly.

Sara stiffened. “Of course I know
that. My cleaning the cabin has nothing to do with anything except
that I dislike untidy things.”

Zachary did not look convinced. “There
is something I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time but a promise
to Mother prevented me from doing so. But now that she is passed
away, I have no misgivings about telling you.” He breathed in as if
bracing himself for something, and Sara grew slightly
alarmed.

“
Your father is not my
father, Sara. John Dawes married mother when she already carried
me.”

Sara’s eyes widened and she shook her
head. “I don’t understand.”

“
Mother married father out
of pure desperation. She loved my father, my real father, and he
her. But he was wealthy and already married and could not bear up
against the pressures of his family who would have been quite
horrified by a divorce.”

“
And so she married whoever
would have her,” Sara said dully.

“
Sara, father loved mother.
Couldn’t you see that?”

Sara looked at her brother, her
half-brother, and nodded. “But she never loved him.”

“
I’m sure she was grateful
to him. At least at first. But then I believe she grew to hate him.
In her twisted mind, it was father who was to blame for her not
marrying the man she loved. She loathed everything about
him.”

Sara’s face paled. “Everything.
Including me,” she whispered, her eyes staring blankly in front
her. “She never loved me.”

Now she knew why. Now she knew why
nothing she did or said pleased her mother. For each time her
mother looked at Sara, she saw the man she hated. Her entire life
crystallized in that moment and understanding exploded in her mind.
She suddenly had the answer to that question asked only in the dead
of night when she was curled up beneath the covers: Why doesn’t she
love me? Sara sat down heavily, her eyes filling with tears, her
heart feeling as if someone were squeezing it.

“
Why did you tell me?” Sara
said, almost angry to have been told the truth. She dashed away the
tears that slipped down her cheeks.

“
Because your entire life
you tried to make her love you. You worked yourself to death trying
to please a woman who would never be pleased. Every time you put
flowers on the table and looked at her with a smile, I wanted to
scream for you to stop as much as I wanted her to just once return
your smile. I didn’t want to see you do it again, that is
all.”

Sara was silent for a long moment as
tears continued to fall unbidden and silent. Memories, painful,
horrible, rushed through her mind. She saw herself as a little
girl, tip-toeing through a room if she knew her mother was there,
looking for approval for even the smallest of things—a hair ribbon,
the shiny polish on her shoes. Sara swallowed down the growing lump
in her throat. “You must think me pathetic. I know I
do.”

Zachary hunkered down before her and
grasped one hand. “No, Sara. I think you the warmest, kindest woman
I have ever known. And the strongest. You held our family, such as
it was, together.”

“
Thank you.”

Zachary stood, all gruff and awkward.
“Well. We’ve had our talk,” he said, straightening the cheap wool
waistcoat he was so proud of.

“
Yes, we have.” Sara
brushed the last of her tears away with her fingertips. “I want you
to know, though, that I intend to clean if I like and mend clothes
if I choose. I simply will do it for myself and any member of the
crew in need of assistance, except him.” There was no need for her
to say whom she meant. “Captain Mitchell will have to beg me to
darn one of his socks before I ply a needled to one of them. And
several,” she said with a lift of her chin, “are in definite need
of mending.”

Zachary laughed and gave her a small
hug. “The real reason I am here,” he said, suddenly sounding
formal, “is that I am to accompany you to dinner. Captain’s
orders.”

Oh, drat, Sara thought miserably.
She’d forgotten that in her pique she’d demanded that she at the
very least act the wife and eat with the captain and his officers
at dinner. She looked miserably down at her clothing, wishing she
had something better to wear. She let out a sigh. “Very
well.”

She followed her brother to the dining
room where the elegant table was cut out around the mizzen mast,
which thrust through the decks of the ship. Captain Mitchell and
his mates were already gathered around the table, and stood
abruptly when she entered the room.

“
Good evening, gentlemen,”
she said with a calm she did not feel. She hadn’t yet gained the
courage to look at West, even though she felt his eyes on her,
warming her skin to an uncomfortable degree. She sat to West’s
right and fingered the little railing that bordered the dark walnut
table.

“
To keep the place settings
in place,” West explained.

Sara darted a look to him, trying to
make her gaze cool and distant. “Thank you for explaining, Mr.
Mitchell.”

West watched as she took in the formal
settings, which were elegant, almost absurdly so given the
roughness of the men around the table. Despite her simple dress and
her simple background, West couldn’t help but think she belonged
sitting at an elegant table. She had an innate grace, an
indefinable quality that made her a lady. He realized with a start
that she reminded him of his mother, and he wondered what Julia
would think of such a comparison. All those days and nights of
retching into a basin and she’d said not one word of complaint,
uttered not a syllable of regret. She’d even, he realized, taken
his boorishness rather well.

West looked up through the skylight
built directly above the table and could see that the sky was still
light, though the sun cast the golden light of the coming dusk upon
the ship’s wheel and the helmsman who tended it. He forced his mind
to his ship and their hunt and away from the woman who sat next to
him, who drew his gaze the way a whirlpool draws flotsam—with with
dangerous strength. When he looked down, he saw that Sara’s gaze
had followed his and all the men, save Zachary, were looking at his
wife, or rather at the woman pretending to be his wife. Pretending,
he said to himself forcefully, though his body seemed to want to
ignore that pertinent fact. He turned his thoughts to Elizabeth,
imagined her sitting beside him. Ah, he thought, thoroughly
pleased, that’ll cool my ardor for this little chit.

“
When do you think we’ll
spot our first whale?” Sara said to no one in particular, and none
of the men answered for some time.

“
Hard to tell,” Zachary
mumbled finally.

Silence descended. Knives cut the
surprisingly succulent chicken. Spoons dipped into the fish chowder
that must have been to Sara’s liking, for she let out a small sound
of pleasure. Mr. Billings slurped loudly and Mr. Mason gave him a
sharp nudge. The next mouthful went in smoothly.

“
Is it true,” Sara said,
her voice sounding overloud. “that a whale can eat a man
whole?”

Next to her, Zachary nearly
choked.

“
Mr. Mitchell. Is it
true?”

West gave Mr. Mason a sharp look,
clearly suspecting his first mate had been up to deviltry by
spinning tales.

“
I’ve heard such stories,
but I’ve never seen proof of such,” he said
dismissively.

Mr. Mason wiped his mouth with his
sleeve, then hastily picked up the napkin and wiped his mouth
again. “Only the sperm whale. Vicious creatures when they’ve got a
harpoon stuck in their backside.”

“
Mr. Mason.” West’s warning
was clear. Sara ignored it.

“
And would the whale chew?
Or simply swallow a man whole?” Sara shot a glance at West, and
smiled when she saw his look of disbelief. Mr. Mason
cackled.

“
Well,” Mason said, rubbing
his beard. Bits of something escaped the frazzled whiskers with the
movement. “I imagine it’d chew a bit. Depends on the size of the
man, I suppose.”

As if engaging in perfectly acceptable
dinner conversation, Sara nodded. Next to her, Zachary was trying
his best not to laugh aloud.

Sara took a few delicate bites. “Do
you think, Mr. Mason, that a whale would eat a man for food? Or
only to exact revenge?”

“
Miss Dawes.”

Sara looked at West, her blue eyes
innocent. “Mrs. Mitchell,” she corrected sweetly.

His jaw clenched and Sara supposed her
“husband” was getting miffed at her.