The Whiskey Tide (33 page)

     
She waited two. The storm was slowing them. For the first time ever, she heard Joe, at the wheel again, swearing steadily as he tried to make headway against waves that occasionally broke over their bow. In the afternoon, when they should have been safely in Saint John, the waves abated only to have snow descend like a curtain, cutting off vision. They caught the flash of the light at Wallace Cove, a faint yellow smudge in the whiteness, but missed the one at Beaver Harbor — or were disoriented.

     
Billy's pale face was strained. Kate knew he was frightened. So was she. Joe kidded them that the weather was nothing you didn't see on a fishing boat, where the pay was worse, but he didn't let anyone else take the wheel for more than five minutes.

     
By three in the afternoon it was as dark as dusk. Then, through the diffusion of snow and diminishing light, came a glow, the lamp known as the Three Sisters. It marked the entrance to Saint John Harbor. Kate felt quivering muscles relax as the
Folly's
crew found themselves in the company of other vessels. A few intrepid freighters were heading out, but most craft were making for safety as they were.

     
"Wait here," Joe ordered tersely when they had docked. "I'll see to the warehouse."

     
She nodded, grateful to retreat to the cabin, which if not really warm was dry and protected. Shaking herself clear of snow she sat down on the end of the bunk, meaning only to rest. She jerked awake as a hand pressed her shoulder. Joe was back, droplets of moisture glittering on his watch cap.

     
"Get your travel bag," he said urging her to her feet.

     
"Why? Where?" The fragrance of hot chowder flooded in from the galley.

     
"We'd be crazy to start back out in this. They'll load us first thing tomorrow. You and I pull the lion's share of time at the helm. We both need a decent night's sleep. Clovis and Billy can watch things here. We'll get a room at a hotel the warehouse clerk recommends over on St. James. You can have the bed and I'll sleep on the floor to make sure you're not bothered."

Twenty-four

     
The hotel was a small but handsome red brick structure three stories tall. A basement half above street level housed the kitchen. A dining room and reception desk occupied the front of the first floor, guest rooms the back. A staircase with polished bannisters led to the rooms on the top floor.

     
"Nasty out," the clerk commiserated as Joe signed the register. "Blow itself out by morning, though. They always do this time of year." He slid Joe a key. "You and Mrs. Sullivan enjoy your stay."

     
A few other travelers were straggling in. Kate hadn't realized how chilled she was until her fingers started to throb in the central heat. Nor had she recognized the extent of her own weariness. She moved with little more thought than the
Folly's
engine, trusting Joe's competence now as she did at sea.

     
He opened the door to a neatly kept room containing a white iron bedstead, a bureau and wardrobe. A brown carpet patterned with roses was almost the size of the room, and the bureau held towels and a small bar of soap and glasses for water.

     
"Have a bath to warm up," Joe suggested flinging himself into the room's only chair. He unbuttoned his coat. "It's a good time of day for it. Plenty of hot water, and not so many people waiting to get in as there will be later."

     
His eyes half closed as he spoke. Kate realized he must be as drained of energy as she was. She went down the hall and after soaking at length in the claw-footed tub, felt her teeth began to unclench. She soaped every inch of her body, then used the small bar to wash salt from her hair.

     
It never had felt so wonderful to be clean. She lay while the steam from the bath rose around her and decided it didn't bother her at all that she was on her own in a hotel with Joe Santayna. Aggie wouldn't think twice about the situation.

     
A tap at the door reminded her other guests would be wanting to wash up for dinner, here or in the bath at the opposite end of the hall. Pulling on a clean pair of step-ins and her nearly dry outer wear, she returned to her room. Joe stretched on the bed with one arm tucked under his head. His boots were drying by the radiator. Kate saw the heels of his socks were finely darned.

     
"There's whiskey if you want it." He indicated a flask on the bureau. "None downstairs. This part of town's dry."

     
His dimples appeared at the irony and Kate giggled until she was weak. Dozens of boats a day coming for booze, yet some of Saint John's citizens had to go across town if they wanted a legal drink.

     
Kate poured herself a taste of whiskey diluted with a generous serving from the pitcher of drinking water. She swallowed, closing her eyes as she waited for its warmth to hit.

     
"It's a hell of a way to make a living, Kate," Joe said quietly.

     
"It's a hell of a wage we make at it, too. And you said you hit weather like this when you're out fishing. Was that true?"

     
He inclined his head in acknowledgment as he sat up. "Not this early, usually, and not this far from home. But sometimes."

     
"Well, then."

     
"Same risk for less money in fishing, you mean? Guess I can’t argue."

     
He went to wash. Kate sipped at the whiskey and reflected on how seldom he became angry, and never despondent, and wondered if it was because of differences in his world and hers.

     
The small dining room at the front of the hotel was almost full by the time they arrived. They weren't the only guests driven in unexpectedly by the storm. As many thick sweaters as suits were in evidence. Three men at a nearby table wore boots and conversed about an engineering project. The atmosphere was polite but not formal. Kate saw only two other women apart from their waitress.

     
"Do you really think Billy and Clovis will be warm enough on the boat?" she asked. Snow whirled in the lamplight outside.

     
Joe leaned easily back. "The cabin's warmer than the place Billy lives with his mother, Kate."

     
"Oh." She traced the edge of the polished table. "You think I'm spoiled, don't you? Living so comfortably all my life and not being willing to compromise now... to move to a house that we could afford?"

     
"The world needs people who have the courage of their convictions. And you're anything but spoiled." His smile was as warm as the room. "You're a hell of a woman, Kate. And I hope you're my friend as well."

     
"Yes. I mean I hope I am too."

     
They laughed.

     
The waitress brought bowls of rich broth flavored with barley, then pork with sage for Joe and stuffed cod for her. Mounds of mashed turnip, as rich and wonderful as fresh-churned butter, accompanied the main course. Kate wondered why Peg had never made such a creation. Her previous experience of turnips had been sliced, boiled, smelly and too assertive of taste.

     
Joe told her about discovering his young cousin Rose, the truant, nursed a secret yearning to be a dancer like Isadora Duncan. He'd bribed her with dancing lessons. She hadn't missed a day of school since. Kate, with relief at unburdening, told about Aggie's involvement with Felix. Joe's jaw tightened when she came to the part about Aggie demanding that Kate help hide her overnight absences.

     
Bread pudding with nutmeg sauce was served.

     
"That year you spent in Boston, you were in college," Kate said.

     
Joe groaned. "The aunties told you
that
while they patched a hole in your side?"

     
Kate laughed. "The little one, the one that flutters, said she supposed we knew each other from college. I figured it out later. Why haven't you gone back?"

     
"What would I do at the end of it? Be shut up inside all day? Fishing suits me. Not answering to anyone. I can read on my own.

     
"What about you? Billy — who admittedly gets things he doesn't understand scrambled at times — claims you were all set to study in Scotland."

     
She sketched details of her lost opportunity. It hurt less now.

     
"But you'll finish your degree, once your house is safe?"

     
Kate shrugged. "Like you, I can read on my own."

     
Their conversation turned to books and then to booklegging, the brisk trade in books available abroad that were smuggled in and sold under the counter at certain stores since the government had tightened its censorship.

     
"What would you want to read that you couldn't get legally?" Joe asked.

     
"
Ulysses
," Kate responded promptly, and yawned. They had lingered a long time over dinner.

     
As Joe unlocked the door to the room he hesitated. "If you're not comfortable my being in here tonight—"

     
"No. It's fine. No different than the boat, really."

     
But she knew, when he'd gone down the hall to wash and she'd pulled her outer clothes off and slipped quickly under the covers that it
was
different. On the boat there were Billy and Clovis.

***

     
Joe woke with the unfailing habit of one accustomed to early risings. He could feel the faint scratch of the rug through his shirt, though he was comfortable enough with a proper pillow for his head and the spare blanket from the bed wrapped around him. The radiator had kept the room warm and he'd slept fully clothed except for his sweater and boots. The metal knocked now with the announcement it was about to deliver more heat.

     
Outside, pitch black still blanketed the city. Not a star to be seen, which meant it was overcast. But his ears assured him the wind had died down. He sat up, stretched, watched the wavery glass of the window and listened some more, concluding at last that the snow had stopped too.

     
It had been the smart thing to do, coming to the hotel. He and Kate were the linchpins in their smuggling venture. If one of them took sick, or even used up all reserves of energy, the safety of the schooner and its crew would be at risk. Besides, he'd hated the thought of Kate roughing it on the boat all night as cold as it was. She'd never complain, but there ought to be limits to what she'd ask of herself.

     
He turned for the first time and looked at her as she slept. Her shoulders were uncovered and the knit undervest she wore had slipped from one of them. He marveled at the fineness of her skin and her delicate bones. Even in sleep intelligence lighted her face, but her seriousness was lost in softness. He'd slept with perhaps half a dozen women; seen tantalizing nakedness and fuller breasts, yet nothing that made him want to stand watching as he did now.

     
He drew the covers up to her chin and stepped back.

     
"Kate?"

     
There was no response. He raised his voice a notch.

     
"Kate." She slept the sleep of the innocent. Finally, with some hesitation, he reached down and shook her. "Kate. It's time we got started."

     
She turned her face toward the pillow. "It's still dark out."