Wilderness Courtship (9 page)

“I’m sort of in it,” Charity countered with a sheepish grin. “At least my heels are inside.”

“I meant with the door locked, and you know it.”

“Yes, I know. It’s just so stuffy in there and so beautiful out here.” Shifting Jacob to her other hip she pointed. “Look at those rocks. And that cliff! It’s so steep. Every couple of miles the terrain seems to change to something altogether new.”

“Those are the famous redwoods of California you see up there,” Thorne said, swinging his arm and pointing. “They don’t grow anywhere else in the world, that I know of.”

“I’ve seen the wood, of course, but I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing a live tree still standing. I’ve heard they’re very impressive.”

“They are. Maybe someday you’ll have the chance to view them more closely.”

“Maybe.” She grew subdued. “Who knows what the future holds?”

“God does,” Thorne said with conviction.

“You really believe that?”

“Yes, I do.” He held out his arms to relieve her of Jacob. “You look tired. Let me hold him for a while.”

“Thank you.”

Thinking of all the trauma and tribulations she’d faced while crossing the plains, Charity was moved to speak her mind. “Why do you feel that God even cares?” she asked. “I mean, with all the evil in the world, how can you possibly say that?”

“I don’t know. I’m no theologian. I can’t explain it to myself so I’m pretty sure I can’t make it clear to you, either. All I do know is that when I was shipwrecked and positive I was about to draw my last breath, I called out to God in desperation and He gave me peace for whatever happened. I wasn’t even sure I was going to be rescued. I simply knew I was safely in the Lord’s hands, no matter what.”

“Is that why you’re still holding out hope that your brother survived? Because
you
did?”

“Partly, I suppose.” He smiled wistfully. “It is my fondest wish that Aaron and his family will find happiness again.”

Empathetic, Charity lightly touched his sleeve on the arm that was supporting the child. “The Good Book does mention children as being special. If you’re right about God looking after all of us, I imagine He’s even more tenderhearted toward these innocent little ones.”

“As are you,” Thorne told her. “I don’t know what we’d do, how we’d manage without you, Miss Beal.”

“It is fortunate that you chose to stop at the Montgomery House.”

“Fortunate?” Raising one eyebrow, he began to smile. “I would much rather consider it providential, although that may be a gross understatement. Now that I’ve given the matter more thought, I would say that you’re definitely part of the Lord’s plan for me.”

His words took Charity’s breath away for an instant, until he added, “And my family.”

Chapter Nine

J
acob had fallen asleep in his uncle’s arms so Thorne had carried him inside and laid him tenderly on an empty berth, then had bid the women a polite good-afternoon.

Charity hadn’t expected to see hide nor hair of him again until morning so she was surprised when someone rapped loudly and insistently on her cabin door a few hours later. She laid aside her daily journal and pencil and went to answer the knock.

Cautious and more than a little tremulous, she grasped the knob, leaned against the thin wooden door and called, “Who is it?”

“Me.”

Her relief at hearing the familiar rumble of Thorne’s voice was so great it left her a bit giddy. “I beg your pardon, sir. I don’t know anyone by that name.”

Giggling, she listened to his masculine mutterings for a few seconds before she unlocked the door and peeked out. “Oh, it’s you. Why didn’t you say so?”

“I thought I did.”

She swung the door wide and studied his face. “So, you did. What’s the matter? You look concerned.”

“Not overly so. We’re putting in at a cove for the night and I thought I should explain what was going on. The weather promises to worsen and the coast is getting pretty rugged up this way. Our captain doesn’t want to chance running aground on the rocks or getting the wheel or rudder fouled on the kelp that breaks loose during rough weather. I happen to agree with his assessment.”

“Will we be safe?” Charity asked.

“Safer than we’d be on the open sea in this small craft.” He smiled at her. “How are you all doing?”

She huffed. “Well, since you’ve asked, Naomi insists she’s seasick and has taken to her bed. Jacob only dozed for a few minutes after you left us and refuses to nap anymore, so he’s grumpier than a hibernating bear in January. And I have a pounding headache, all of which I have duly recorded in my daily journal. Therefore, I’d have to say we’re coping, as usual.”

He wouldn’t have laughed in response if Charity hadn’t been grinning wryly. “Glad to hear everything is normal.”

“I knew you would be. Any more sign of the man you were worried about?”

“No. He hasn’t shown up in the saloon since I confronted him and I haven’t been able to locate him anywhere else on the boat.”

“Then that’s good, right?”

“In a manner of speaking. I’d almost rather have him underfoot than have to wonder what else he may be up to.”

“You are a hard man to please.”

Thorne’s smile grew. “You’re just now figuring that out? Tsk-tsk. I thought you were smarter than that.”

“Smart enough to try to stay on your good side,” she quipped. “Listen, is there any chance we could get a light meal? It doesn’t have to be fancy. Jacob has eaten all the food I brought along and I’m starving.”

“Sorry. I should have explained. I’ve already arranged with the galley for your meals to be served in your suite. Would you like me to dine with you or would you prefer your privacy?”

Charity chuckled. “Privacy? In here? It feels more like solitary confinement. I—we—would love to have you eat with us.”

“In that case, I’ll be back in a jiffy.” He paused and stared pointedly at her. “Lock the door again and keep it locked until I get back.”

“You worry too much.”

Thorne’s brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. “It’s not unreasonable to worry if someone is really after you,” he said flatly. “Lock that door. Now.”

As he turned to go he heard the click of the lock. She might think he was overreacting but he knew better. Any of Louis Ashton’s prior reprehensible deeds would have been enough to convince Thorne that nothing short of death would stop the old man from carrying out his plans to eliminate Aaron’s family.

The way Thorne saw it, he was the only deterrent standing between that family and an untimely death. He, and Charity Beal.

He knew he couldn’t have asked for a more dedicated, loyal ally.

Charity was perplexed. She stood in the center of the cabin and tried to figure out where they should spread their repast. The closer the boat drew to the shore the choppier the water became and although she and Jacob seemed fine, poor Naomi lay in her narrow berth, moaning.

Finally, Charity decided it would be wiser to relocate the small wooden writing desk and use it for a table than to leave it where it was in the cramped cabin. If she dragged it out onto the deck, she reasoned, they could breathe fresh air as they supped and no one would have to listen to Naomi’s laments.

She had nearly finished relocating the makeshift dining table and two armless side chairs when Thorne reappeared. She could tell by his expression of disgust that he wasn’t pleased by her choice of arrangements.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Charity faced him with her hands fisted on her hips. “I imagine it won’t bother an old salt like you but there is a very ill woman in my cabin and I don’t relish the notion of having to try to eat while in the same room with her. It wouldn’t be good for Jacob, either.”

Thorne nodded and acquiesced. “You’re right. Naomi is definitely not a sailor. She hardly ate a bite during our entire voyage around the horn. Aaron plied her with sugar cubes dosed in peppermint oil but she remained ill in spite of it.”

“Poor thing. No wonder she seems so frail,” Charity said. “I’ll see if I can coax her into eating a sop of bread or chewing on some gingerroot, later. We should be better off once we’ve stopped, right?”

“As a matter of fact, we’re already at anchor.”

“But how can we be? I still hear the engine.”

“The captain is keeping the boilers fired up to counter the tide when it turns. That way, we can also be underway as soon as he deems it safe. It’s a wise decision.”

“I see. There’s certainly a lot to know about running a boat, isn’t there?”

“Or a sailing ship,” Thorne said. He carefully placed a basket of food on the deck. “You might want to bring a blanket outside and we’ll make this a picnic. Keeping everything on the top of that little desk in this weather will be nigh impossible. Dishes were sliding off the tables in the saloon just now, even though those are made with rimmed edges.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so before? It took me ages to drag that cumbersome thing outside.”

“Then stay put and watch the boy. I’ll put it back for you.”

“Nonsense. I can handle it.”

“I know you can, but…” He bent over and reached for the edges of the desk at the same time Charity did.

Their heads bumped and their hands overlapped, his atop hers. His touch was firm and reassuring.

Instead of giving ground or jumping away, she froze and tilted her head to look at him. At the same instant Thorne’s gaze met hers. His face was mere inches from hers and she could feel his warm breath on her cheeks, on her lips.

Looking into his dark brown eyes, she was struck by their unexpected intensity, their emotional impact on her very being. Charity imagined it would be easy to drown in the all-encompassing depths of his gaze.

Finally, after what had seemed like aeons, she came to her senses, slipped her hands free, straightened and stepped back. Thorne made no comment.

Instead of following him into the cabin while he replaced the desk and chairs, Charity called, “There’s an extra blanket folded at the foot of my berth. Bring that one for us to sit on? Please?”

Remaining silent, he did as she asked, handed her the blanket, then stood aside while she spread it on the deck.

Except for cautious peeks at him through lowered lashes, Charity kept her gaze averted. She wondered if Thorne’s emotions had been as affected by their accidental proximity as hers were. She doubted it. After all, he was a man of the world, a successful ship owner and veteran traveler. He had seen faraway places and had certainly met many women much prettier, more educated and more interesting than a simple farm girl from Ohio.

No,
her heart corrected,
not a girl, a woman.
A woman who was once married, sullied by cruelty, and therefore ruined for any good, normal man who might someday come along and wish to become her husband.

Thorne knew all about that part of her history, she reminded herself. Little wonder he had said he wasn’t going to take her walking the way a suitor might and was now acting reluctant to even look at her again, let alone purposely take her hand, which was just as well. Thanks to the painful memories of Ramsey Tucker’s abuse, she normally recoiled from any grown man’s touch, except perhaps that of her own father.

Now, however, Charity was puzzled. Something very troubling had just occurred and she wasn’t prepared to deal with it. Although she realized that Thorne had merely covered her hands with his by accident rather than purposefully, she had not been repulsed by the contact. Not in the slightest.

Admitting that startling fact, even to herself, was almost as frightening as their continued flight from would-be assassins.

The simple meal of cold meat, bread, cheese and canned peaches had been quickly completed. Since the weather was worsening and rain had begun to dot the deck beyond the sheltering overhang, Thorne had bid them good-night, picked up the basket and politely taken his leave.

Bone weary, Charity had seen to Jacob’s personal needs, then had done as much as she could for Naomi, including making her a weak ginger tea out of tepid water to settle her stomach. Adding a drop of laudanum to the tea had helped Naomi relax and sleep.

Although no one had actually dressed for bed due to the dangers inherent in the inclement weather, Charity had loosened her clothing and slipped off her shoes and stockings before lying down.

She forced herself to close her eyes as she listened to the creaking of the wooden craft and the drum of activity belowdecks. Every so often there was also a long, drawn-out hiss which she attributed to the venting of excess steam.

Recalling Jacob’s bedtime antics, Charity smiled to herself. Due to the narrowness of the berths she had said, “I’ll make you your very own bed and we’ll slide it under mine. That way you’ll still be close by and your mother and I won’t step on you if we have to get up during the night. How does that sound?”

When he’d answered, “No,” and started to whine she’d realized she should not have posed the idea as a question.

“I want to sleep with you, in a real bed,” he had insisted, sniffling and rubbing his eyes with his fists.

“Okay, if that’s what you want.” Charity chose her words more carefully this time. “But these berths are awfully narrow for two. I thought you’d like making your very own cabin. We could have fun pretending it’s a fort or a cave—and you could even be a bear.”

“Really?” Pout forgotten, his dark eyes had sparkled. “A bear? A big bear?”

“Yes. Of course, if you don’t want to…”

“I do, I do.” He’d dropped to his hands and knees to peer into the narrow space. “Make me a cave.”

As soon as she had prepared his pallet, he had gladly shinnied onto it and had quickly discovered an added bonus to his make-believe den. Roaring as if he were a real bear, he’d begun kicking at the bottom side of her thin mattress and giggling when she’d pretended to be scared.

They had laughed and teased for a few minutes until she had dimmed the lamp and he had dozed off. So had Naomi. Charity was heartened to hear the other woman’s soft sighs in the nearly dark cabin. At least the poor dear was no longer moaning and tossing about. That was certainly something to be thankful for.

With both her charges finally in repose, Charity was free to begin to unwind. She began by saying her prayers, then let her mind drift beyond the confines of the cabin and imagined herself standing on the shore amid the towering trees Thorne had pointed out.

Unfortunately, once she fell asleep and began to dream, her lovely visions became tortured and filled with her late husband’s threats and cruelty. Her heart pounded. Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead and neck. She saw herself running blindly in the midst of a whirling, punishing tornado like the one that had leveled their Ohio farm and killed her mother.

In the nightmare, Charity was fleeing from an ugliness too foul, too indescribable to even have a face, yet she knew who it was. Who it had to be. Though Ramsey Tucker was dead, the memory of him continued to haunt her.

She called out to God in her terror. Suddenly her eyes popped open. She blinked rapidly. Torrential rain was beating against a small window with such alarming ferocity it seemed sure to break through the fragile glass at any moment.

For a few seconds Charity didn’t remember where she was or with whom. It was the rocking and pitching of the room that reminded her. She threw aside her blanket and swung her feet to the floor while she fought to calm down and regain her sensibilities.

“I’m on a steamboat,” she whispered, rubbing her eyes. “I’m safe. We’re safe. This cabin is secure and everyone is fine.”

She strained to listen, to reassure herself. All she could hear was the rapid beating of her own pulse, the creaking of the wooden hull, and the incessant hammering of the deluge against the walls and tin roof.

Her lamp had apparently gone out while she slept. She reached for the place she was certain she had left it and touched thin air, instead.

Lightning flashed. Thunder shook the cabin.

Charity blinked and tried to focus, wishing the burst of light had lasted longer so she could get her bearings. Whatever had she done with that lamp? It couldn’t have fallen to the floor or she’d smell spilled coal oil.

Standing, she extended her arms and groped across the short distance to Naomi’s berth. Her knees bumped against the railing along the side.

She bent cautiously, wary of losing her balance and falling against the other women. Her hands touched the blankets. They were warm. Rumpled.

Charity patted the surface of the berth, then slapped it more vigorously.

Her breath caught as she realized there was no doubt. The bed was empty. Naomi was gone!

Thorne was dozing with his feet propped on one of the red velvet chairs, his torso half reclining in another, when he felt icy drops of water hitting his face. Someone was shaking his shoulders. Someone very wet.