A Light For My Love (39 page)

Too late
. China saw the look of dread
her words had brought to Jake's ashen face. Obviously, her
admission was the last thing he wanted to hear. Of course it was,
she thought bitterly. What an awkward burden to be the object of
unwanted adoration.

When he finally spoke, he sounded older than
his father. "You wasted your time with those meetings. I don't want
to have anything more to do with ships or shipping. This," he said,
waving his arm around, "this is where I belong. When I tried to
rise above it, I got slapped back down. The fire yesterday morning,
that was the last straw."

The echo of desolation in his words tore at
her heart, but his self-pity annoyed her. "So you're going to sit
here and drink every night and make me handle
your
agreements by myself?"

He fidgeted uncomfortably, his head pounding
like a hammer on a rock. "No one asked you to get involved in
this."

"Then who was that man who offered to make me
his partner if I would arrange a business dinner for him?" she
demanded incredulously.

He had the grace to look embarrassed. "That
didn't make you responsible for seeing this through," he
mumbled.

Suddenly the front door swung open, and Ethan
Chastaine limped into the room. He was a larger man than China had
originally thought, probably as tall as his son if his rheumatism
had allowed him to stand upright.

"Is this girl tellin' the truth, Jacob? Did
you give your word to people?"

"Jesus, Pop," Jake sighed, pushing his hand
through his hair. "How long have you been listening out there?"

"Long enough. If you promised to ship that
cargo, and you don't, you're not the man you've been tellin' me you
are." He turned to look at China, and it seemed that his expression
was a little less hostile than when they first spoke. "You say your
brother's on his way?"

She could only nod in response to his
question. Ethan was not the least bit ashamed to admit that he had
eavesdropped on their conversation. He must have heard everything,
even her personal feelings.

He turned back to Jake. "Then I think you
know what you have to do. You'd best see to it." He shuffled to his
chair in the corner and lowered himself into it with a loud
grunt.

Jake scowled at his father, then tugged on
China's sleeve and led her to the small porch. He shut the door
behind them. In this light, he looked worse than ever. He squinted
painfully against the bright sun.

"Jake," she said quietly, "you can't stay
here. It won't be good for you. You were meant to be at sea, in
command." Even as she said the words,

she mourned the truth of them. He would never
be content with a job on land.

Jake leaned against the porch railing and
gazed at the dosed door, then back at the river. He knew she was
right. He and Pop would be at each other's throats in no time, and
then what? Would he go to Peter Hollis, hat in hand, and ask him
for a job in his cannery? Or maybe to Douglas Buchanan for a job in
his flour mill? He seriously thought he'd rather be dead than
endure a life like that.

And what about this woman who claimed to love
him? He couldn't bear the pain of thinking about that now. He
risked a look at her face. She would always be his beautiful
fairytale princess—distant and unattainable, like a mirage that
never grew closer no matter how long he sailed toward it. Fate had
decreed that when it allowed those crimps to burn the
Katherine
. She'd been his pathway to China; she'd given him
the confidence to try to win her heart. Now he could muster only
enough courage to send her away. There could be nothing between
them because he had nothing, and he didn't deserve a woman like
China Sullivan. He felt less of a man than he had when he'd left
seven years ago.

He wished that just once more before he left
he could hold her in that big bed, protected by the shelter of the
night. But it couldn't be. The best he could hope for was to carry
the rich memories of their union with him for the rest of his
days.

"Go home, China," he said. "I'll look for my
razor and get cleaned up. Then I'll go see those shippers about the
details."

She nodded. "All right"

"China?"

She turned.

“Thanks.”

*~*~*

"I thought you wanted me to work on the
fishing boat with you, Pop. That's what you've always said." Jake
stood in the tiny parlor and rummaged in his sea bag, searching for
his shaving brush.

"I know I did. Jacob, will you stop rootin'
around in that damned duffel bag? Come over here so I can see you
without cranin' my neck like a pelican."

He pulled a low stool over and sat in front
of his father. He wasn't comfortable with this; it made him feel
like a child.

Ethan shook his head and looked around the
room, at the drab walls. He spoke with difficulty, the words coming
from a heart that held its secrets tightly. "We've never seen eye
to eye about much of anything, you and me. I wanted you here, to
settle down and accept what you had, to stop pining for something
else. It didn't matter much if you was happy—a body can't expect to
be happy. But even when you was a boy, runnin' wild with Quinn
Sullivan and those other kids, I knew you wanted to get away from
here. And first chance you got, you left. You were like your mama
that way." He absently rubbed one of his aching knees. "And now you
don't belong here no more. Quinn's sister is right—and smarter than
I thought." He sounded disappointed with his discovery.

"Quinn's sister," he repeated to himself.

"Don't look so down in the lip about this,"
Ethan said. "You care about her, don't you?"

Jake automatically glanced away. "Yeah," he
muttered, "but, damn it, she's so stubborn. She wouldn't listen to
me about anything, and that got us into a hell of a mess."

Ethan put his hand on Jake's shoulder,
surprising him. He looked up into his father's lined face and
swallowed hard at what he saw there.

"Jacob, sometimes it's the people you love
who disappoint you the most. You just have to let it go and love
them anyway."

*~*~*

China dragged through the next couple of
days. Jake didn't come to the house, but time and again she stood
in the bedroom doorway across the hall from hers and looked in.
She'd remade his bed and straightened the room so that it looked as
though he was still using it. Finally, realizing that she was just
making herself miserable, with a knot in her throat she stripped
the sheets and blankets and closed the door for the last time.

On top of that, though she was a woman who
prided herself on being in control of her emotions, now she often
found herself on the verge of tears.

At meals she tried to resume the routine and
pattern the family had known before Jake had come to them, but
nothing was the same. Though he no longer lived in the house, his
presence was still felt, and his place at the table had assumed
nearly the importance that Ryan's held.

Conversation buzzed around the riot and the
loss of the
Katherine Kirkland
, but she couldn't join in.
And Susan was no more talkative than before, but at least she never
mentioned her lost husband now.

China's sense of alienation was sharpened one
afternoon when Cap summoned her to the back parlor to tell her that
he would be leaving.

"Oh, Cap, why?" she asked, truly distressed.
"Is it something we've done, or not done? Where will you go?" She
sat stiffly on the edge of the old sofa next to his chair. He
leaned over to give her knee a clumsy pat with his gnarled
hand.

He peered at her face, growing alarmed when
he noticed her eyes welling up. "Now, Missy, don't take on so. I'm
not going far. Dalton Williams wants to go to Portland, and he
needs someone to watch that boardinghouse."

She groped in her apron pocket for her
handkerchief. "But Cap," she sniffed, hating her weepiness, "don't
you like it here anymore?"

He poked a toothpick into the cold bowl of
his meerschaum. "It hasn't a thing to do with that, not a thing.
But since you two got that place going, I've stopped by in the
afternoons to trade yarns with some of the men there." He quirked a
bushy white brow at her. "You can't say it made your little heart
beat faster to listen to stories about my sailing days. The lad was
a good audience, and he understood what I was talking about, but
he's gone now." He put the pipe back in his mouth.

She couldn't help but smile at him. He was a
dear old soul, the closest thing to a father she'd ever had. "What
about Aunt Gert? I'll bet she doesn't think this is a great
idea."

"Oh, aye, she's good with it. I expect she'll
be coming down to cook for us sometimes. It's just a few blocks
over, you know."

"When will you go?"

"This week, I'd say. Dalton has the repairs
going pretty good, and he's all afire to tell the politicians in
Portland how wrong they are to ignore shanghaiing." He gave her a
fond glance. "I'll miss you, girl, but I want to spend some time
with old tars like me, and I won't be denying it. A man likes to
think that his life is still worth talking about, even if he's
looking at its sunset."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Just two mornings later, China answered the
front bell and found Dalton at the door. He was shaved and combed
and dressed in his usual pea

coat and dungarees. In his left hand he
gripped a battered valise. No one could accuse him of using league
funds for his own advantage, she reflected wryly.

He stepped into the entry and set the valise
on the floor, looking uncomfortable, as he always did when in her
house. "I'm on my way to catch the boat to Portland," he said.

"Cap told me you were going this week," she
said, feeling awkward as well. It seemed odd to be saying good-bye
to him; they'd seen each other at least twice a week for more than
two years and had spent many long, anxious hours in the carriage
house.

He nodded. "I don't know how long I'll be
gone—it could be months. I'm glad the old guy is going to stand in
for me."

China smiled. "I think he just wants an
audience for his yarn spinning. I'm going to miss him around here."
She gazed fondly at his plain face. No one would guess from looking
at it the noble soul that lay beneath. "I'm going to miss you
too."

A man always self-possessed, he suddenly
flushed. He glanced at the runner under his boots, then back up at
her. "We did good work together, you and I. We didn't save them
all, but we were able to help a few. There are men at home with
their families right now because of that."

"That matters more than anything," she
agreed. "I'm pleased with what we accomplished—the boardinghouse,
making people listen."

Impulsively, he reached for her hands and
held them in his own. "China, are you sure you won't change your
mind and come with me? I, well, I guess I can't give you grand
romance. I don't think it's in me. But I'd respect you, and honor
you, and be proud to call you my wife."

"Oh, Dalton," she whispered. She looked at
his intense eyes and squeezed his hands, touched by his modest
eloquence. Some women married and never had the simple things that
he offered. They should have been enough for her, and maybe they
would have been, if he were Jake. But he wasn't. "I am honored that
you have asked. But it wouldn't be fair to either of us if I said
yes."

"It's Chastaine, isn't it?" he asked
quietly.

She nodded, feeling her throat tighten. As
strong as her love was, she wasn't surprised he'd detected it.
"You'll write to me, won't you? And visit once in a while?"

The corners of his mouth lifted with a
familiar, faint smile. "As soon as I'm settled, I'll send you my
address. And I have to come back and check on you and Harbor
House."

He leaned forward and pressed a warm,
lingering kiss to her forehead and cheek. She felt his sigh ruffle
her lashes. Then he released her hands and picked up his
valise.

She watched as he opened the door and walked
down the steps. "Please be careful," she called after him.

He turned to look at her from the sidewalk,
and gave her a little salute. "For you, anything."

China stood on the porch and kept her eyes on
him until he was too far away to see. "God go with you, Dalton
Williams," she murmured.

*~*~*

Late that afternoon China stood in the
pantry, gathering potatoes in her apron for dinner. Aunt Gert had
gone with Cap to help him set up housekeeping at Harbor House, and
Susan had trailed along with her. She wondered sometimes what Susan
had been like before Edwin's death. Had she been vivacious and
outgoing? It seemed unlikely, but China suspected they would never
know. She guessed that the dim, shadowy person who inhabited
Susan's form was the only one they'd ever see.

Her hands were full when a knock sounded at
the back door. She'd told Cap he could have the leather chair if he
could find a man at the house to pick it up. Muttering under her
breath, she supposed he'd sent someone already. Cap wouldn't want
to be without his chair; not even for one night.

She gripped the corners of her apron in one
hand to make a sling for the potatoes and went to answer the knock.
Expecting to find a burly sailor or two, she didn't bother to peek
around the gingham curtain. But when she opened the door, her jaw
dropped and shock rippled through her like a lightning bolt.

On the back porch stood a tall, good-looking
man with midnight black hair and eyes the color of a summer sky.
Her throat closed suddenly, and she swallowed again and again,
trying to make it function.

"Quinn?" she gasped, her voice hardly
working. "Quinn!"

He gave her a crooked smile, and the ends of
the apron slipped from her nerveless fingers. Potatoes bounced on
her feet and out the door onto the back porch where his duffel bag
sat.