Rebecca's Heart (2 page)

“R. Johnson.” Rebecca frowned and laid the paper back down on the table. “You added my name?”

“Of course. You’re the backbone of this venture.” Caroline leaned forward and squeezed Rebecca’s hand. “What’s wrong? You don’t look very happy.”

“I don’t know.”

Biting the edge of her lip, Rebecca walked toward the front of the shop. Miniature replicas of ready-made furniture had been artistically arranged among yards of cream and gold silk fabric in front of the window, advertising their goods to everyone who walked by the brick-faced building. Leaning against the top of one of the hand-carved dressers, she stared past the colorful display to the bustle of traffic on the street outside and watched the busy scene unfold before her.

Everyone seemed to have a purpose and direction. Drivers traversed the cobblestone street toward known destinations. Pedestrians weaved carefully through the traffic to their next appointments. Was she the only one who didn’t know where her life was headed?

“Do you ever question God’s will for you?” Rebecca turned back to Caroline. She wanted to confide in her, but how could she when she didn’t understand her own growing dissatisfaction? “I feel so unsure about everything.”

“Do you still miss Jake?”

“No.” Rebecca blinked back the tears and tried to work through the jumble of emotions so she could explain clearly how she felt. “I miss what we planned together—a home, children.”

“You’re twenty years old, Rebecca. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you and a God far bigger than any earthly problem. Trust Him to show you His plan for your life, in His timing.”

Rebecca allowed a slight smile to cross her lips. “So you’re telling me to have patience?”

“Patience isn’t an easy virtue, is it?” Caroline ran her hand across her stomach and let out a soft chuckle. “There was a time when I was convinced it would take a whole lot more than patience to win Philip’s heart.”

Rebecca paced the length of the shop again, back to where Caroline sat. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know how much Michaela told you, but Philip was once quite smitten with her.”

Rebecca’s stepmother had told her parts of the story. In the end it had been Eric Johnson, Rebecca’s father, who had stolen Michaela’s heart. And shortly after that, Philip had discovered Caroline was the one he truly loved. “I guess God does work things together for good.”

“And the same is true for you. I believe coming here was God’s will for you.” Caroline picked up one of the slipcovers Rebecca had just finished and ran her hand across the fabric. “It’s giving you time to figure out what you want to do with your life. Look at your work. God has given you an incredible gift. This is absolutely flawless.”

“I do enjoy it.”

Rebecca reclaimed her chair across from Caroline, smoothing out the silky folds of her Napoleon blue taffeta dress. Maybe this was the direction God had planned for her. She could help Caroline build up her business and maybe even open her own shop one day. Still, if living in Boston was God’s will, then why did she feel such a stark emptiness inside? Something was missing, and she knew it wasn’t Jake.

Caroline fingered one of her blond tresses. “Since you’ve been here, business has doubled because of referrals for your work. I may have had the inspiration of combining Philip’s cabinetmaking business with the fabric slipcovers, but I’m not near the seamstress you are.”

Rebecca dropped her gaze at the compliment. “I don’t know about that—”

“It’s true.” Caroline waved her hand in the air. “Besides, after the baby comes, Philip is insisting I stay home more. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Rebecca smiled. It did feel good to be needed.

Caroline eased out of her chair. “Pretty soon I won’t be able to stand without help.”

Rebecca grabbed Caroline’s hand to help her up and grinned. “Pretty soon you’ll be holding your precious son or daughter in your arms.”

“I can’t wait.” A warm, satisfied look swept across Caroline’s face. “Which reminds me, I promised Philip I’d rest this afternoon. You don’t mind watching the store, do you? Philip will be out back in the workroom if you need anything.”

“Of course I don’t mind. That’s fine.”

Caroline picked up the newspaper and pulled it to her chest. “Patience Hutton is supposed to drop by and pick up the rosewood table Philip repaired for her.”

Rebecca began folding the leftover pieces of the indigo fabric and setting them in a pile. “He showed it to me this morning. It’s beautiful.”

“He did a good job. You can’t even tell it was broken.” Caroline paused at the bottom of the staircase that led to the apartment she and Philip shared above the store. “Have you met Mrs. Hutton yet?”

“I don’t believe so.”

Caroline leaned against the door frame. “Now there’s a woman I’d love for us to get as a client.”

“Why’s that?”

“Her home is supposed to resemble a museum. She has a collection of silver pieces that have been passed down in her family for five generations, as well as all sorts of family heirlooms.”

“How wonderful to be able to pass down treasures like that to your children.”

Caroline nodded. “Now it’s just her and her son. I believe he builds ships for a living, but the family was in the whaling business for several generations.”

Rebecca set the last piece of folded fabric on the pile. “Did you know my grandfather was the captain of a whaling vessel?”

“Really? I’ve always thought that would be such a romantic profession.”

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “What’s so romantic about waiting years for your husband to return from an expedition? The whaling and fishing industries are all horribly dangerous lines of work. My father once told me of a storm in which thirteen vessels went down carrying about a hundred and fifty fishermen. Think of all the widows and orphans those sailors left behind.”

“All right, you have a point.” Caroline’s hazel eyes sparkled. “I was thinking more about the lovelorn bride waiting anxiously day after day for her husband to return from sea.”

“Sounds like a tragedy to me.”

“All of Shakespeare’s romances ended in tragedy.
Romeo and Juliet—
“

“Enough.” Rebecca laughed as she added the entire pile of scraps to the bin that held other bits and pieces of leftover fabric. “You’re talking to a girl who only knows a tragic end to romance, unlike your happily-ever-after story with Philip.”

“Your day will come, Rebecca. I have no doubt about it.”

“Maybe, but for now I plan to leave tales of romance, tragic or not, to the storytellers.”

A warm breeze off the Atlantic seaboard ruffled Luke Hutton’s work shirt as he finished greasing the skids beneath the hardwood runners of the schooner he was building. He was eager for the day she would set sail. Boston’s shipyards were full of clipper ships, whaling vessels, private yachts, and commercial fishing boats, but this one he was helping to build with his own hands.

Luke gazed out across the harbor and watched the stately crafts bob in the sparkling blue coastal waters. Folding his arms across his chest, he let out a contented sigh. The smell of the ocean permeated the air, and he could taste the salt from the Atlantic on his lips. It was something he couldn’t deny. The sea was in his blood.

“She’s going to be a fine sailing vessel, young man.” Dwight Nevin stepped onto the deck behind Luke, inspecting the work he’d just completed.

“You’re right, sir.” Luke turned to greet his boss. “She’s a beauty.”

Working for Dwight Nevin as a ship’s carpenter had been a dream come true. In many ways Mr. Nevin was the father figure Luke had longed for after the death of his own. And he didn’t disapprove of Luke saying exactly what was on his mind. Something he was prone to do.

Luke grinned at the redheaded Irishman, who at fifty-five was as fit as any sailor. “I still predict that one day soon the demand for private yachts will overtake commercial boats.”

“Never.” Mr. Nevin shook his head and frowned, but Luke didn’t miss the sparkle in his eyes.

“With all due respect, sir, it’s already happening. Summer resorts are bringing in more tourists every year, while the fishing industry is dwindling. We’re seeing an increase in land values along the coast as towns are being influenced by the influx of visitors.”

The older man waved his hand in front of him. “A few tourists will never make that much of an impact. The entire commercial fishing industry will never die down.”

“Like the whaling industry, sir?”

“Okay, you’ve made your point.” Mr. Nevin groaned and started up the narrow wooden plank toward the small building used as an office for the modest shipbuilding company. “Let the tourists have their fun. Fishing’s been a way of life for my family for the past four generations. And your family, too. It’s in our blood.”

“Maybe, but the future isn’t in whaling anymore.” A seagull cried out above him as Luke hurried to follow his boss up the plank. “We—you—ought to be looking more into the private sector. You could double, triple, your business if you wanted to.”

“Business is fine.”

“True, but what about tomorrow? Just think about it. Twenty years ago whaling was a highly profitable business, but now kerosene has replaced the need for whale oil and candles.”

Mr. Nevin stopped and blew out a labored sigh. “What does your mother think about this?”

“My mother’s like you. She refuses to think that things might be changing.”

“You’re going out again on a whaling expedition, though, aren’t you?”

Luke tugged at his shirt collar, sorry for the reminder. It wasn’t as if he dreaded the trip. Sailing would always be a part of him, but lately his interest had focused on building the crafts. “I leave in a month. But this will be my last trip.”

“Have you told your mother it will be your final voyage?”

“My mother believes it’s God’s will for me to captain my own vessel someday. So far nothing I have said or done, including working for you, has helped alter what she believes to be true.”

“What you need to do is to find yourself a nice girl and settle down.”

Luke frowned at the older man. He’d heard the very same comment a dozen times. “What ‘nice girl’ is going to wait three years for me to come back?”

“Find the right girl, and she’ll wait.”

Luke scuffed the wooden plank with his boot and shook his head. “Not likely, sir.”

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing, Luke Hutton. You’ve got initiative, that’s for sure. If you can survive the next few years battling the sea, and if I can survive my wife’s constant nagging, when you get back I’ll have a job waiting for you.”

Two hours later Luke stepped into Macintosh Furniture and Upholstery and breathed in the mixture of cedar, pine, and fresh wood shavings. While building boats was his passion, he’d dabbled with carpentry enough to respect the expertise it demanded. And from what he’d heard, Philip Macintosh’s craftsmanship was some of the finest in the area.

“May I help you?”

Luke’s gaze turned from a skillfully carved table and stopped at the dark-haired beauty who stood in the center of the showroom. “Yes. I’m—I’m here to pick up a table for my mother, Patience Hutton.”

Luke took a step backward, annoyed at his sudden awkwardness. What was wrong with him? His boss mentioned he should settle down, and suddenly the next pretty girl he sees is marriage material?

The young woman clasped her hands in front of her. “I was expecting her to come by.”

“It was on my way home. I hope it’s not a problem.”

She laughed then shook her head. “It’s not a problem who picks it up. I just meant that we were expecting her this afternoon. The table’s ready.”

“Good—I know she’ll be pleased.”

“But you haven’t seen the table yet.”

Luke cleared his throat. Why was everything he tried to say coming out wrong? “Is there a problem with it?”

“No, but I do want to make sure you’re satisfied with the work before you take it.”

“Of course.”

“If you’ll come with me, you can look at it.” She headed toward the back of the store, letting him follow. “It’s a beautiful piece.”

“It’s one of my mother’s favorites.” Luke stopped at the table and ran his fingers across the polished top. “Unfortunately, a recent guest of ours managed to knock it over, cracking the narrow leg.”

“That’s a shame, but if you take a close look, I don’t think you’ll even be able to tell where the crack was.”

Luke examined the curved leg of the table and smiled. “Excellent work. The wood has been matched to perfection, and the seam is even.”

“Do you know a lot about carpentry?”

“Not tables and chairs, per se.” Luke rubbed his hands together and caught her gaze. Dark brown eyes stared back at him, and he wondered suddenly what was hidden behind them. He’d heard the laughter in her voice but hadn’t missed the unmistakable look of sadness. “I’ve been working for Dwight Nevin as his apprentice. Right now we’re building a fifty-foot, two-masted, rigged schooner.”

“For fishing or cargo shipments?”

Luke’s eyes widened in surprise at her question. “This one is going to be for fishing. Are you interested in the boating industry?”

A dimple appeared in her right cheek when she smiled. “My grandfather was the captain of a whaling vessel. While I never knew him, I’ve always been fascinated by the sea and the stories it has to tell.”