The Last Honest Seamstress (12 page)

The deck was quiet and deserted. The sailors had the good sense to rest while they could. Serene moonlight lit the water. With her anchor dropped, the
Aurnia
bobbed like a gently rocking cradle. Fayth walked to the rail and threw the dress triumphantly into the lapping waters below.

"Death to the old. Life to the new." It was a victorious, audible whisper.

She climbed up on the railing to see over the edge and face the substance of the nightmare. Her dress floated eerily for a moment, billowing out and riding the waves in the dark, bottomless water. She watched until it sank into the blackness.

"To new life," she said to herself.

"Not planning to jump?" The Captain stepped from the shadows. Strong arms encircled her before she could lose her footing and fall back to the deck on her own. Her heart hammered at the touch, less from the surprise than from the firm masculine presence.

"Drowning the old." Her voice was giddy.
 

The Captain looked confused, and worried.
 

"Getting rid of garbage." Her explanation didn't seem to satisfy him. He didn't release her. She laughed when she realized what he must have been thinking. "Don't worry, Captain. I didn't mean me. I had no intention of tossing myself overboard. I'm a survivor, remember? Earlier, you told me so yourself. You don't doubt your own judgment, do you?"
 

She loosened his grip enough so she could spin around to face him. He kept his arms looped loosely around her waist. Did he still think she would jump?

"You threw something over?"

"The dress I wore today. What's the use of saving it? It's full of ember holes, totally ruined. But if I had all my drab old clothes with me, I'd toss them all into the Sound. It's time."
 

He must have thought she was crazy. By now he had reason to think her insane.
 

"As it is, the fire's done me the favor of ridding me of them. It's time I became colorful again." Without further explanation, she looked toward shore where Seattle glowed in the darkness. "Seattle still burns."

"The fire's almost spent herself. She'll be nothing but embers by morning."

"You're so certain?"

"Fires have to burn out eventually."

"All fires, Captain O'Neill? You're not the romantic I thought you were." She turned to look up into his eyes. Every emotion she felt was at odds with what she should be feeling. Maybe it was shock. Maybe tomorrow the horrendous circumstances of the day would crash down with awful reality on her again, but for this moment she felt light, and free, and flirtatious. She smiled openly at him.

His grip tightened around her waist as he drew her to him. As his lips came down on hers, she was lost in a maelstrom of emotion. He tasted wild and wonderful, salty and sweet. She was un-corseted and consequently, unable to fasten the middle back buttons of her dress. The warmth of his hand leaped through the gap the open buttons created, through the thin cotton of her chemise. She leaned into him, opened her mouth and for one beautiful moment, savored the sweetness.

Their tongues danced together, igniting desires long forgotten. She pressed herself against him, wanton and free before she let reason carry her back to reality. She wanted independence now, a purpose that he could only interfere with. His mouth on hers was too good, too wild, too wonderful to be trusted. Why did a handsome face always distract her? She couldn't let it this time. Any diversion, especially a man, could be disastrous. Cold, wet fear brought back her sense of propriety. Distrust. Denial. Fear of another betrayal. All careened through her. She pulled away abruptly.
 

He looked confused, hurt, surprised? She couldn't tell. Not wanting to know, to see, she dropped her gaze. He released her.

"Fayth—"

She shook her head to silence him. "Don't apologize, Captain." She turned and walked away from him. Took a few uncertain steps, paused, and turned back. He was staring silently out over the water. She wished she knew his thoughts. Was he regretting the kiss? She fervently hoped not. She didn't.

In that instant, she knew she would never forget that beautiful, romantic image of him—a tall, strong figure silhouetted against the smoldering city. A bulwark, salvation. "I haven't thanked you for rescuing me."
 

He turned to look at her.
 

"Thank you, Captain O'Neill. I needed a hero—more than you'll ever know. Goodnight." At that she spun around and ran back to the cabin.

Her heart pounded furiously as she slipped under the covers in the Captain's bed, holding her photograph of Drew, staring at it, trying to push away alluring thoughts of the Captain. Anger, hate. That's all she felt now when she stared at the handsome face smiling back at her.

Originally, she'd kept it because she couldn't throw it out. Drew had been too much a part of who she was. Now she used it like a talisman to ward off the feelings the Captain stirred. To remind herself that she was easily distracted by a handsome face, to remember what treachery felt like.

And now her own body was the traitor, reacting with treasonous passion toward the Captain. Suddenly she couldn't see the freckles, only the firm set of his jaw, and the sparkle of his hazel eyes. She was frightened beyond reason.

"Damn you, Drew! Damn you straight to hell!" She whispered into the dark night air, swearing aloud as only thoughts of Drew made her do.

She tossed Drew's picture onto the bed beside her, covered it with the sheet so she did not have to face his mocking, lying eyes. She wiped at the tears on her wet cheeks, fearing the sensations the Captain had awakened, knowing she had to distance herself from him. She had to get back to the city. As soon as they docked, she would forget the Captain and begin to rebuild.

It had been one long, nightmarish day. Exhausted, she fell back onto the pillow that smelled like the Captain. Tucked his sheets around her. Inhaled deeply. Pictured him on the deck. Just this night she would sleep in his bed, revel in the warm scent of him, draw strength from him. Tomorrow, she would leave.

Fayth woke to the sounds of loud male voices, confused. Instinctively, she reached for Olive. Where had she run off to? It took a minute in her foggy fight to wakefulness to remember where she was, and another to remember how she got there. Memories of the previous day cascaded over her. The fire. Olive disappearing into the smoke. The Captain rescuing her. Her neat, orderly existence was gone, swept away by a rush of flames. The night had provided a dark, surreal buffer between terror and ruin. How could she face life in the harsh reality of day?

Two men shouted to each other somewhere outside her cabin. Light filtered in through the curtained porthole. The Captain's clock read six-thirty. She breathed in the warm, manly scents that clung to Captain O'Neill's bed linens, and, for a moment, savored the pleasurable tremor they evoked. She pushed herself stiffly into a sitting position. Her shoulder throbbed in rebellion at the movement. A glance at it confirmed that the moist dressing needed changing. She remembered the Captain's gentle tending of her wound, the concern in his eyes, and his kiss on her lips. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

Regrettably, she must forget. Once, she had trusted a man to be her salvation. She would not repeat that mistake. Not with the stakes so high. When Drew had abandoned her, she still had the sum from the sale of her father's business to sustain her. This time she had nothing but the slimmest of cash reserves.

She needed to direct all her energy to survival. Somehow she had to rebuild. How could she accomplish this while distracted by a flirtation? Dared she even think of it as a courtship? Maybe what happened last night was only a mirage, a reaction to tragic circumstances. How else could she explain the Captain's sudden interest in her? Whether it was real or not, it could only complicate her life. Reason told her she must face this particular tragedy alone, but it could not prevent melancholy from sweeping over her.

She pushed the sheet down around her, wincing again at the pain in her shoulder before sliding out of bed to the open porthole. The first unpleasant task she would learn to do for herself was tend her injury.

She cocked her head toward the porthole. One of the voices drifting in belonged to the Captain. She could not see him from where she peeked through the curtain, but the way her heart fluttered at the voice confirmed his identity. Another vessel had pulled up alongside them. She could just make out the name, the
Eliza,
and a man, clearly the captain of the other vessel, leaning over the rail, yelling to Captain O'Neill.

"There are at least four wharves still intact and operational, Con," he yelled. "Schwabacher's, Almond and Phillip's, Manning's, and Gilmore's. You can put in at one of them or sail to Tacoma and have your goods shipped up by rail."

"Aye, we'll dock in Seattle. Appreciate the information, Bailey," the Captain said.

She let the curtain drop. They were going to port. Probably today. As much as she feared facing the destruction that awaited her on the shore, after the events of last night, she feared confinement with the Captain more. She fell gingerly back onto the bed. She had better get moving if she was going to be ready. It wouldn't take long to reach shore.

Half an hour later, the
Eliza
gave a fierce blast of her steam whistle as it pulled away, startling Fayth as she bent over her sewing machine on the main deck. There didn't seem to be any damage. Fayth was absorbed with thinking of a way to get it moved off the ship and back to shore. But where was she going to take it? Her inspection was interrupted by the Captain's approach.

"You're up and about early this morning, Miss Sheridan. I trust you had a pleasant night's rest? How is your shoulder?"

She had hoped to avoid speaking to him. "My shoulder is better, thank you."
 

His eyes traced it.
 

She remembered his gentle, caring touch. The way he leaned in to kiss her. Was her flustered state as evident as she thought it must be?
 

"And my night was as pleasant as could be expected, given the circumstances. Your quarters are very comfortable, Captain." Her tone was cooler, and shakier, than she intended. "We're going to dock in Seattle today?"

There was nothing intimate in his posture, expression, or tone. Not like last night, but the deck was filled with sailors this morning.

"Yes. The wharves to the north of the city are intact. We're carrying goods and food the city desperately needs now."

"It's still on fire." Fayth looked to the thick black smoke rising above the southern area of the city.

"Coal bunkers. It'll be days before they burn themselves out, but they're not a danger. They're contained."

Seattle looked ghostly and colorless and strangely at odds with the bright-blue summer day as her charred silhouette stretched skyward. Neither said a word as they both stared at the remains of the city. Con's sailors raised anchor. The steam engine roared to life.

"I'm almost afraid to face it. What do you think we'll find?"

"I wish I knew. And even more, I wish I could assure you that in some small way it would be pleasant," he said.

"Pleasant would be finding Olive.
Alive
."

"Yes." It wasn't convincing. He cleared his throat. "The militia has been in charge of the city since just after the fire started. They'll be guarding the burned-out area against looters. Captain Bailey told me it'll be a while before they let anyone in, even those with legitimate need."

She stared at him openly now, not believing her ears. "But they have to let us in. Where else will we go?"

"You can stay on the
Aurnia
for as long as you need. Or, I can take you to Tacoma, somewhere safe, until the city's reopened. Looters and hellions of all kinds are already descending and the smoke hasn't even cleared. It isn't a safe place for a lady."

"It never has been, Captain."

He took her arm. "Promise me you'll stay, Miss Sheridan." His eyes pleaded with her.

How could she lie to him? "I—"

One of his men called to him, saving her the trouble.
 

When he returned his attention to Fayth, he was back in his role as captain. "I must assume command now. Billy has orders to attend to your needs."

"Thank you, Captain." She had absolutely no intention of staying. And Billy just might be her means of escaping.

Chapter 6

The
Aurnia's
whistle sounded, announcing their arrival at the pier.
 

Docking, already?
Fayth hastily signed the letter she'd been writing to the Captain and secured it to the table with a paperweight. Call her cowardly and she wouldn't deny it. A note wasn't the most personal way to thank him for the great service he'd done for her—she owed him everything—but it was surely the kindest way to let him down with the least embarrassment to either of them.

She flew around the cabin collecting her things and reached the deck just as the
Aurnia's
crew lowered the gangplank. Almost instantly, the deck swarmed with people coming to reclaim their rescued possessions and unload supplies. She picked her way through the throngs to her machine and set her suitcases down. She was still wondering how she was going to get her possessions off the ship when she spotted Billy.