If I Wait For You (10 page)

She was about to deny it, but stopped.
The evidence of her distress would be far too obvious, so she
simply nodded.

“
I hope your tears have
nothing to do with what happened this afternoon, Miss Dawes.” He
seemed truly concerned and Sara quickly reassured him.

“
Oh, no. I was simply
giving in to a small bout of melancholy. I believe retelling one of
my father’s tales brought it about.”

One of his broad hands skimmed over
the charts. “Shall I get your brother?”

“
Goodness, no,” she said
with a small laugh. “I fear Zachary has no more idea of what to do
with a crying woman than most men do. It makes him decidedly
uncomfortable.”

“
In my experience, any
attempt to stop tears will be met with more of the same,” he said,
turning his attention to finding the proper chart.

“
Certainly a crying woman
doesn’t want to be lectured on why she should not cry, as men are
wont to do. She simply wants only one thing—to be held.”

He turned, giving her another of those
searching looks that seemed to see into her soul. “Is that what you
want, Miss Dawes? To be held?”

He was not more than five feet from
her. She could smell the sea air he’d brought in with him, could
see where a bit of salt spray had hit one lean cheek and dried
there. And in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to fall
into his arms, to be held against that solid, male body, to lose
herself in that warm embrace she could only imagine.

“
I…no,” she said, a near
whisper, her gaze never faltering.

One side of his mouth lifted. “And why
is that, Miss Dawes. You are a woman, after all.”

“
I believe I might
shatter.” She tried to say it lightly, but the words had a tragic,
sad sound to them even with her valiant attempt.

He went still as he looked at her.
Suddenly, Sara didn’t feel sad at all, but something far more
mysterious. She realized she did indeed want to be held. In that
instant of recognition, she looked down at her lap and took a deep,
cleansing breath. He took a step toward her and she
froze.

“
Surely you would not break
apart if someone held you.”

She shook her head, one curl slipping
from her braid.

Insanity. That’s what it must be, West
thought as he gazed down at this woman he wanted more than anything
he could remember. I should run from this room, he thought wildly,
even as he took another step toward her.

“
Then I shall prove that
you will not, Miss Dawes,” he said, his voice uncommonly gruff. She
looked up at him and his heart nearly beat out of his chest. So
damned lovely. It couldn’t be true, surely someone had held this
girl, comforted her at least, kissed those full lips that seemed to
beg for a man’s touch.

“
Come here.” Madness. Oh,
God, grant me strength.

She stood, looking shy and hopeful and
he drew her into his arms, letting out a shaking breath as he gazed
at the ceiling again praying for virtue. She kept her arms by her
sides, her face turned and lightly touching his chest, as drew her
near. He placed one hand on her head, and pressed her close, while
he wrapped the other arm around her back. Sara was slim, but not
bony. She was all gentle curves and soft edges, and he nominated
himself for sainthood at that moment for not crushing her to him
the way he wanted.

She was still against him at first, as
if she might dart away at any moment, and then her arms wrapped
around his waist in an almost desperate way. It took all his
control not to bend his head to kiss her. He allowed himself only
to touch his lips to her soft, silky hair, to breathe in her clean
scent, to feel how perfect she fit against him. He held her that
way forever it seemed, because he knew if he moved, if he dared
caress her back as he wanted to do, he would not have the strength
to pull away. He’d offered her a simple embrace, and he’d be damned
if he turned it into something else.

Finally, her grip lessened and she let
out a long sigh that did crazy things to his already tortured
loins. “This is nice,” she whispered.

“
Mmm.” It was all he could
manage at the moment. This innocent moment, he told himself
harshly.

Finally, he stepped back and gave her
a smile. “Now, my girl, you have been held and I see you are still
in one piece.”

To his great dismay, her eyes filled
with tears. Seeing his panic-stricken face, Sara
laughed.

“
You needn’t worry,
captain. I will not demand another embrace.”

“
Thank God,” he said with
exaggerated relief, making her laugh again. “Well, I must complete
the task I came here for. We’ve had a wind shift, and if she
continues to blow this way, Cape Verde, not the Azores, will be our
first stop.”

It took some time before he was able
to find the proper chart, and by the time he did, he was thinking
far less charitable thoughts of Sara than when she was in his arms.
To make matters worse, each time he pulled out a chart and found it
not the proper one, she offered to find the chart for
him.

Finally, his temper frayed, he
shouted, “By all that’s holy, Miss Dawes, if you ever touch these
charts again, I’ll chain you in the hold.”

“
I have apologized, Mr.
Mitchell,” she said, all haughty and completely unrepentant as far
as West could discern.

“
An apology will not find
me the proper chart,” he shot back, feeling better each moment. It
was far better to be at odds with the woman than to be holding her
in his arms. He finally felt back in control. What insanity drove
him to hold her, to tempt fate the way he had? My God, she’d not
been on this ship two weeks and already he was practically mauling
her.

After he left the cabin, he stopped in
the darkened dining room and prayed, long and fervently, for God to
grant him the strength and moral character to not break his
promises to his third mate and fiancée. Prayer had saved his sanity
before, and would save him now, he reasoned. It had to.

Chapter FIVE

Pity. That’s all it had been. For in
the days that followed, not only did Captain Mitchell not touch
her, he rarely even looked her way. Even in the evenings, when he
returned to the cabin to lay down in his bed with a tired sigh, he
rarely spoke except to bid her good night. He somehow knew she was
awake, though Sara thought she had become adept at pretending
sleep.

At first, Sara spent her
long days in the cabin sewing. She thanked goodness the
Julia
was well-prepared
for a long journey for nearly everything she needed she found.
Within days, Sara had two bodices, two skirts, two petticoats, two
pairs of drawers, a chemise, and a wool vest to wear beneath her
bodice for warmth. The vest protected her modesty a bit, for
without stays, Sara felt practically unclothed. She’d also pieced
together a bulky wool coat, this in dark gray. Everything was
terribly plain and unstylish. Without a crinoline, her skirt fell
naturally around her slim hips, another oft-lamented defect noted
by her mother. “My goodness, Sara, you’re shaped like a little
boy.”

In the ship’s store, she did find
large bone buttons, which she fastened to her bodice. It was the
only bit of adornment on her otherwise plain dress, and she’d
thought more than once she could easily have passed for a Quaker.
Wearing unstylish clothes had never worried Sara overmuch. She’d
been too busy to concern herself with flounces and lace and jet
trim. She should be used to looking dowdy, but as she tried to
catch her reflection in the small cabin mirror it seemed to her she
looked shockingly plain.

Sara scowled at her reflection. “He’d
not notice you even in the finest ball gown,” she said to herself.
She puffed out a sigh of disgust—not at how she looked, but why she
cared.

Pity, Sara. It was only pity that made
him embrace you.

Having completed her wardrobe, Sara
had more time to go about the deck. She wandered up, surprised by
the warmth of the air that swept down the hatch and hit her face in
a soft rush. Then she gasped. The water was the most beautiful
color she’d ever seen, a deep blue-green, so unlike the dark gray
of the North Atlantic. She smiled, joy filling her. It was so
lovely, so very different than anything she could have imagined.
Back home, where the air was getting chilled, where the leaves were
beginning to turn, she could never have fancied such a
sight.

“
I’ll never get tired of
looking at it,” she said as her brother made her way to her
side.

“
You will.”

“
Never. How could you? It’s
so beautiful.”

“
Wait until we’re two weeks
into the doldrums without a breeze. You’ll pray for a cold wind and
a gray sea, if only to relieve the awful heat.”

Ignoring her brother’s dour words,
Sara turned her face to the sun, a beatific smile on her face. “The
air is so soft,” she said.

“
It’ll grow heavy, hot and
unbearable.”

Sara gave her brother a look of
irritation. “I realize you are jaundiced, big brother, but please
let me enjoy this while it lasts. You can tell me you were right
later.” As she gave him another scowl, she noted a tear in his
sleeve, the edges frayed. “Go below and change shirts, I’ll mend
this one for you.”

“
You don’t have to, Sara.
We fend for ourselves at sea.”

Giving him a stern look, Sara pointed
to the hatch. “Change.”

That was how it started. Once
Zachary’s shirt was mended, Sara noticed Mr. Mason needed a patch
put on his trousers. She hinted that she could take care of the rip
in little time, and within minutes, Sara had another task. She
knew, somehow, West would not be pleased with her activities. He’d
said in no uncertain terms that he wanted her to stay away from the
men, but seeing their clothes in such disrepair was truly
maddening. Sara looked about and saw a rag-tag bunch of men with
rips and tears and stains. How could they stand it? she
thought.

“
Mr. Mason, may I have a
word with you, sir?” He was admiring his new patch at the time,
looking at the piece of cloth she’d sewn there as if it had
magically appeared.

Sara guided him over to the rail,
looking about furtively for West as she did. “I’ve noticed that
many of the men’s clothing is in terrible condition.”

Oliver raised his bushy eyebrows in
surprise. Clearly he hadn’t noticed anything amiss. “Mr. Mitchell
has told me he does not want me associating with the men, and on
this I will obey him. But, Mr. Mason, something must be done about
those poor men’s clothing.”

“
Each man’s got a sewing
kit. And most know how to use it, Mrs. Mitchell.”

Sara gave his new patch a pointed
look. “As you do, Mr. Mason?” He grunted. “I’d like to help. But
I’d like to do so quietly.”

A slow smile spread on Oliver’s
wrinkled face, revealing several missing teeth. “You don’t want the
captain to know.”

Sara smiled. “It would only upset him.
And I fear I must keep busy. I’ve never been idle in my life. Will
you help?”

“
I will, Mrs. Mitchell.
With pleasure.”

Sara now had something to fill her
endless days. Whether she sat on the deck or below, she always had
a bit of sewing in her hands. And never was that bit of cloth
something from the captain’s wardrobe. From her father Sara had
learned that, for whatever reason, a man will wear a garment until
it is in shreds before plying a needle to it. She ignored—though it
was not easy—a growing tear in the seam of West’s waistcoat.
Certainly West was aware of it. He had to be when he hung it on his
peg each evening. She’d actually seen him push a finger through the
hole before turning away. Sara lay in her bed, her eyes pinned to
that offending hole, pushing away the urge to fix it. Each time she
thought about plying a needle to his waistcoat, his words came back
to her: “It pleases me that you have no duties other than to stay
out of my way and far from the business of this ship.”

Staying out of West’s way had been no
problem at all. But staying away from the business of the ship was
not such an easy task. Sara wanted to help, and she found she was
inordinately curious about every aspect of the ship. Zachary had
patiently answered most of her questions, but knew little about
actually sailing the ship. She discovered he had no knowledge of
navigation or how to set the sails so that they caught the wind the
best.

“
I’m here to catch whales,
Sara, not sail.”

Sara grumbled something about seeing
little evidence of that skill, then laughed aloud at his affronted
look.

“
Sara, no one can find
whale better than Captain Mitchell. If we haven’t spotted a whale
yet, it’s because there’re no whales to spot.”

Sara remained unconvinced. When
Zachary ran out of patience with her, she turned to Mr. Mason, who
was delighted to share his knowledge with her. Sara secretly
thought his delight came in part because it was fairly obvious West
didn’t care for the amount of time the two spent together. The two
were becoming fast friends, bound by a wicked sense of the macabre
and their scheme to mend the sailors’ clothes.