Loving Sarah (27 page)

Sarah nodded.

“Men are such base, primal creatures sometimes. If they only knew the way to a woman’s heart is through her brain rather than her privates, they would be so much better off.”

Sarah blushed, too embarrassed to admit that Ian had gotten to her heart by making her entire body feel good. Oh, he always spoke with her as though what she had to say were of significance and value. She supposed that was stimulating her brain. But he definitely stimulated her body first.

“What are you thinking?” Lia poured more tea. “You have an odd smile on your face.”

“He spoke to me as an equal. And aside from the men in our family, there are few men I know who do not talk down to me.” Sarah felt close to crying, but held back her tears. “It’s one of the things I love about him. He’s not like the rakes and dandies a lady meets socializing within our set. Ian’s…different.”

“Lucky says it’s because he’s American.”

“He might be right, but I have no way of knowing as I’ve never met another American man.” She nibbled a cracker. “I know his childhood was not as privileged as mine, but it has made him a man that I admire for his drive to accomplish his dreams. I just wish he’d realize that life doesn’t always follow the time line you set for your goals. One cannot live by a timetable of planned events. Ian has his life mapped out. Having a wife and family was not something he wanted for several years yet—until he had the misfortune of crossing my path.”

“Men are also obtuse creatures,” Lia commiserated. “Sometimes they focus on this one path to a dream when, in fact, there are many paths to the same destination. Some of those paths are rocky and others more smooth. But even the rockiest path can be made easier when one has the love and support of family to help him along the way.”

After Lia had left, Sarah thought about her sister-in-law’s words. Ian may not have had that supportive family before, but he did now.

Her husband had been focused on the one path, waiting until his grandfather died, to reach for his destination—marriage and a family. Then Sarah had come along and taken him on a path other than that which he’d chosen. Thus, like a horse wearing blinders, he could not see his other options. He’d become frightened because it wasn’t what he was familiar with, what he’d mapped out and planned.

So, she thought, if she were to continue using that analogy, she would remove the blinders from Ian’s eyes and acclimate him to his new surroundings. She would show him there was nothing to fear by taking a different road so long as the destination was the same.

As long as he achieved his dreams.

This was the least she could do for him, because she was the one who’d interfered with his plans.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

New Year’s Eve, 1835, Port of Fuchow

“
M
y men are all accounted for. Are we still thinking of leaving the day after tomorrow?” Lucky asked. “Or do you need more time?”

The sizable room was bustling with men from nearly every major country in the world, from the hundreds of ships that lay at anchor just off shore or in the harbor. Every one of them here trading wares and goods for what the locals called China Gold. Tea.

“No. All my men are present,” Ian replied, “and supplies restocked. As far as I’m concerned we can leave on the morning tide.” He lifted the mug and brought it to his lips, again wondering what Sarah was doing. It was something he did frequently to help him pass the time. He’d been counting the days since he’d last seen her, upset with himself for leaving her as he did, feeling deep remorse for upsetting her as he did. “Besides, you know how that old saying goes—both men and boats rot in port.” He tipped it, downing the last of the nasty brew the Chinese bar-keep called English ale, then pushed the crude wooden mug aside, making a face as he swallowed. “Ugh.” When he opened his eyes, he stared at his friend. “What was your final tonnage?”

“Nine hundred seventy-six thousand pounds. What’d you top out at?”

“Nine hundred ninety-two thousand. I’ve even got crates stowed in my cabin,” Ian said.

“Why’d you do that?”

“I’m not using it. It was wasted space.”

“Why are you not using your cabin?” Lucky asked.

“Because I’m more comfortable in a hammock.” That wasn’t the truth of it, and Lucky knew it. But Ian couldn’t tell his friend the truth, that he saw Sarah everywhere on his own damned boat. Even the damned cat missed her, choosing to sleep by the cabin door, waiting for someone to let her in. Traces of Sarah’s presence remained in every corner, nook, and cranny of the entire ship. Yet they lingered most in his private quarters, where her scent still resided in the pillows and blankets. The stain on the sheet, though it had been washed many times since that long ago evening, forced him to face her lost maidenhead each time he threw back his covers. And one evening he found the organization of his clothes press had irritated him so much that he’d spent nearly an hour mussing it up.

“You’re a fool, my friend. Why don’t you just admit you love her? And that you miss her? There’s no shame in it.”

Ian ignored Lucky, for to think about how he’d upset her hurt more than he wanted to acknowledge. “I’ve got an idea,” he nearly shouted. “On our next trip here, let’s bring real single malt and real ale to trade, instead of the usual textiles and such. These poor sots might pay a fortune for good Scotch and brew.”

Lucky shook his head, his dark brown hair nearly as long as Ian’s own. “Let’s look into that. But I think you’re avoiding the question.”

It was only the two of them sitting at the table near the entrance, and Ian looked around them, then met his friend’s brown-eyed stare. “I have been nothing but cruel to her. From the onset I said things. Things that hurt her. And… I’ve never apologized to her.”

“Then make that the first thing you do when you get home because….” Lucky looked as though he wanted to say something but caught himself. Then he said, “Sarah loves you. Though God only knows why.”

“She can’t possibly,” Ian said, remembering every cruel word he’d said to her. “That’s impossible. I mean… she’s never said as much.”

Lucky looked as though he wanted to say something, but he held his tongue. Then he motioned to the servant as he passed them and asked the man for another glass. “You want another?”

“Why not?” Ian replied. “The stuff might taste like pond scum, but it’s the only thing to be had that’s tolerable.”

After the old Chinaman returned with two more crudely carved wood mugs, Lucky’s gaze became serious.

“She can’t possibly hold any affection for me,” Ian said. He stared out the window at the people walking on the raised wooded footpath, the muddy road below it nothing but a deep quagmire. Like his jumbled emotions. “I told her from the beginning that I have nothing to offer her. She accepted that.”

Lucky turned his gaze away sharply, appearing disgusted with him. “I gave my word to her that I would not say anything, that I would keep out of your affairs, but I find I cannot keep that promise. Hopefully, one day she’ll forgive me.” Lucky didn’t look at him as he spoke and the mug between his hands began to darken from his constant rubbing. “I keep thinking that if I were in your position, I would want to know. Especially since….”

“What are you talking about?”

Lucky took another swig of his Chinese ale. “When I went home before we sailed, I saw our family physician getting into his carriage. I thought nothing of it, and later asked my sister if everything was alright, and she said Sarah was not feeling up to snuff. Because I remembered she was sick in Liverpool, I went to see her for myself because I wanted to wish her well.” Lucky’s dark eyes met Ian’s. The look bespoke a seriousness he’d rarely seen in Lucky—the depth of which unsettled him. “Ian, there’s something you should know. You’ll learn of it all when we return, so it might be better to use this trip to prepare yourself.”

Lucky fell silent, frustrating Ian. “What on earth are you trying to say? Just spit it out, man.”

“Sarah is carrying your child.”

Suddenly the anguish on her face that night in Liverpool tore at him, and he felt no more than the lowliest insect that crawled the earth.

“No,” Ian muttered. “She said she didn’t believe….” Ian tried to process what Lucky had said and what he remembered seeing the two times he had seen her since arriving in Liverpool. She had been sick, but from the stomach illness, not from carrying his child. Sarah would have told him that!

Then he remembered what he’d said to her, and she confirmed that she wasn’t carrying. So, could she have been telling him what she thought he wanted to hear? Very likely. That would be just like his Sarah.

Ian didn’t take any more time to reflect on this new information. He just downed the nearly full mug of bitter liquid in three chugs then slammed the thing on the table. He stood, swaying slightly. “I sail on the morning tide. Devil take it that it’s New Year’s Day.” He stormed from the room without so much as a look back to his friend. When he reached his gig, the first thing he did before climbing aboard was heave the contents of the last two hours in that miserable hell hole the Chinese called a tavern.

He had to hurry home. He had to reach Sarah.

I
an pushed homeward hard, keeping
Revenge
’s masts at full sail for as much of the time as possible to catch as much of the wind as possible. He set and led the return course, following as close as possible to the open-sea route they’d taken coming to China. From Fuchow, they sailed to Manila, then Malaca, from Malaca to Ceylon, then to Madagascar, reaching Cape Town late in February. While rounding the Cape of Good Hope, he hit some stormy weather, lost both topgallants on the fore-mast and spent more time in port than he’d wanted replacing the canvas and rigging.

Ian felt guilty for the stress he’d put on his crew to get him home swiftly and let them have time in port in rotating shifts. This proved a critical mistake for he lost three good men, killed in a drunken brawl in which several Dutchmen had drawn pistols. In his investigation, no one could tell him what had precipitated the fight, and the authorities were unwilling to search for the men responsible. Now he was charged with relaying this tragic news to their expectant families. He decided to do so in person when he delivered their pay to the widows. News such as that should never come from a messenger, but from him because he was responsible for each man under his command.

As his repairs were near completed and he didn’t want to spend any more time there than he had to, he scrambled to find replacements for his three dead crewmen and came up with two Norwegians, both of whom were veteran sailors. Just when he’d given up hope of finding a third man, a native approached him on the dock near where his ship sat moored. The man begged him to follow him partway into an alleyway and against his better judgment, Ian did, staying within sight of the boat.

“Good-sah,” the young man said in coarse English, his eyes scanning the faces of the crowds moving around them. The man was tall, nearly six feet in height. He appeared healthy, lean and muscular, the dark skin of his shaved head shining in the sun. His feet were bare and his clothes too small.

“Yes?” With the way the man acted, watchful and skittish, Ian wondered if he was a runaway slave. He looked to make sure they weren’t attracting attention.

“Need help, good-sah?”

“Do you want to sail? To work?”

“Yes.” The man finally looked Ian in the eyes. He spoke slowly, as though trying to find the correct words in a language unfamiliar to him. “I work on ship for you, good-sah.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty summers, good-sah.”

“Have you ever been on a ship?” At this, the man nodded his head. “The work is hard, but the pay is good.”

He gave Ian a questioning look. “You pay gold?”

“Not gold, British pounds. I pay my men well. But I also demand loyalty in return.” The man nodded again. He had an eager, expectant look in his dark eyes. But something more, something Ian couldn’t quite put his finger on at that moment.

“Do you have family?” He shook his head, and Ian continued, “You would be gone for a year or more.” The man agreed. “What is your name?”

“Tally, good-sah.” He sneaked a quick peak around the corner of the alley, then turned a quick, expectant glance at Ian. “Tally.”

“Tally.” Ian wondered if the rest of the crew would accept a black man working with them. Right at that moment, the smell of spices and food cooking deeper in the alleyway caused his stomach to growl. Then an idea dawned on him. “Tally, can you cook?”

“Ah, Tally good cook,” the man said suddenly animated and smiling. “Best cook in village! Best cook!”

Ian was sold. If the man said he could cook, he had a job. He did the mental sorting of his crew. He’d put Goran back on deck and have Tally in the kitchen with Seamus.

Too, Ian also wondered if this native were even a free man. He wasn’t sure of the repercussions for taking another man’s property, if in fact Tally was trying to run away, but the need for another pair of hands and a strong back on his already skeleton-staffed ship was crucial. “Tally, are you a free man?”

The man’s eyes grew wide, then he shut them as he sighed. He visibly deflated as though all his hope had flown away on that breath. “Tally wants to be free man.”