The Last Honest Seamstress (26 page)

"Yeah. Now that I look like this I won't be any good at Lou's and I'll never catch a husband. So much better to have a skill to fall back on." Her sarcasm and despair ate at Fayth.

"You'll be pretty as you please again long before the summer's gone. But you can't be a designer without having a knowledge of fabric and construction. Until the drape and feel of every cloth is part of your being, you can't design effectively. Sewing is the best way to acquire it. What good are drawings if they can't be turned into reality?"

"I suppose you're right. But what I really want is a rich husband. Why do you think I stay at Lou's? If I marry rich, I can draw all day long."

Fayth studied her closely, biting back what she wanted to say. Coral stood a much better chance of landing a decent husband, a husband at all, if she were out of the business. But she couldn't tell her that. "What you want is independence."

"So easy to say when you've found your man."

A knock at the front door interrupted them. When Fayth returned from answering it, she carried a stack of mail. Coral stood aside, watching as Fayth sorted through it. "What's so funny?"

Fayth hadn't realized she'd laughed aloud as she read her postcard from the Captain.

"A hand-drawn postcard from the Captain. A rather clumsy one." She held it up for Coral to see. "Look, just a cartoon. There, does that shatter your romantic notions about the Captain and me? No pictures of roses or declarations of love, just silliness." But she knew her face gave her away. She couldn't hold her smile down. "Some people shouldn't draw," she said softly, looking at the crude picture, imagining him drawing it.

"It's very romantic. A man only sends a card like that to a woman he's very intimate with, emotionally or otherwise. He loves you madly."

"You're a surprisingly hopeless romantic, given the kind of men you deal with."

"And you are hopelessly jaded and unromantic, considering the kind of men you know."

"Touché! Now, shall I show you how to hem?"
 

During the Captain’s absence, the city council voted to keep the boardwalks at the original level. Only the actual streets were raised. Now a full story higher than the boardwalk, people who walked or rode along the street looked directly into second-story windows. To get from the boardwalk to the street required climbing a ladder. To get from the street to the entrance of any building, one had to climb down a ladder. Neither were easy feats while wearing a skirt.

The uncouth men of Seattle spit over the edge of the raised street down to the uncovered boardwalk below, and thought it great sport. Women had to carry umbrellas for protection. The horses hitched at street level didn't behave any better, backing over the edge to relieve themselves. But they at least held legitimate claim to being animals. Fortunately, Fayth successfully navigated the streets without incident as she made her way to the docks to meet the Captain’s ship.

Now, standing in front of the office of O'Neill's Shipping, hands clasped demurely in front of her, knuckles white, watching the
Aurnia
glide through the sparkling waters into her moorage space, Fayth fought the urge to flee. She half expected another woman to emerge from the Captain's cabin. And how was she going to explain Coral's presence in their home?

The Captain held the helm, navigating the vessel into her tight berth. Moments later the
Aurnia
docked. He appeared on deck and shouted the command to tie up. Her heart flip-flopped at the sight of him; she wondered whether from her growing feelings for him or from the news she’d come to share with him.

She had pestered Tetch for information for days. She didn't want the Captain walking in and finding Coral before she had a chance to explain. Mr. Tetch finally sent word that morning that the Captain had wired that the
Aurnia
should arrive within the day.

Fayth waited for the Captain to spot her. When his gaze finally found her, his face lit with pleasure. He made his way toward her as soon as the gangplank was secured.

"Fayth!" He caught her in a hug of unexpected magnitude as his men watched from the deck above. She gave him a breezy peck on the cheek. If he was disappointed, he didn't show it.

"It's good to see you."

His eyes danced as he cocked his head and peered into her face. "We weren't due in until tomorrow. Spend all day with a spyglass to your eye? I don't see a ring around your eye."

She laughed—somewhat too nervously, she thought. "More like pestered Mr. Tetch for any word of your arrival."
 

He looked hopeful. "How long have you been waiting?"

"Forever."

He seemed to like her answer. He swung her around, his arm looped around her waist, and walked her toward shore.

"What about the ship?"

"The men know what to do. I'm happy to see you, Fayth." The warmth in his voice sounded genuine.

They reached dry ground before she worked up to mentioning Coral. "I need to talk to you about something." She was sure she looked guilty.

"Oh?" He was suddenly on his guard.

"We have a houseguest." Her voice pitched a little too high to sound completely innocent.

He cocked a brow.
 

"A long-term one."

"Who? Family of yours?"

"Not exactly." She took a deep breath. What would she do if he got angry and insisted that Coral leave?
 

"A girl from Lou Gramm's parlor house." She hurriedly continued, her words strung together to prevent interruption. "The girl I've been trying to get out of the business. A client beat Coral up about a week ago. She had to get out of the house and there was no place else for her to go. Lou sent her to me. What could I do, Con? I couldn't send her away."

He didn't say anything. Didn't even register that she had called him Con. She realized it too late herself.

"Lou wants her back when she's healed, but I'm trying to convince her to be my apprentice. With business picking up I could use one." She stopped, self-conscious.
 

"If you had seen her, you couldn't have turned her away either." She shuddered at the memory. It was involuntary, but effective. "You haven't said anything. If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll send her back to Lou." She hoped he wouldn't take up the offer.

He dropped his arm from her waist and turned to face her. "A girl from Lou's?"
 

He sounded stunned, but why shouldn't he? Blast her wicked thoughts that cast aspersions on him at every opportunity.

"I know what you're thinking, but—"

"I don't think you do, Fayth." It was almost as if he spoke to himself. He teetered on the brink of denying her. She saw it in his face.

"She's not as hard and jaded as the other girls, Captain. She's . . . salvageable."

"Salvageable?" He laughed softly. "Like a ship?"

"Redeemable, then. Please, give her a chance. She wants one. She needs one. She's led a tragic life." Fayth scanned his face for some kind of hope. "Her father abused her. She ran away to escape and ended up with Lou. Please, we can't disappoint her."

He stood there, silent, stoic. When he spoke, his words were wooden. "I'm not a hard-hearted man. I wouldn't ask you to send her back to that life, but neither can I permit a prostitute to live with us without voicing my disapproval." He sighed, his expression distant.
 

"As much as I admire your determination to save her, your good intentions on her behalf, I have to warn you—there is no escape from that life, Fayth. It drags down all who touch it; taints them. I would hate to see your reputation suffer because of it."

At his warning, a shiver slid down Fayth's back. Somehow she felt he spoke of more than her situation. Most likely, it was only her suspicious mind, but she felt he warned himself as well as her.

"But our house is your home as well as mine," he continued, "and so you have every right to have a guest. As for your business, if you want to hire her, I can't stop you. It is your business, and I agreed long ago not to meddle in it." His gaze rested on her. "I leave the choice to you."

"I can't turn her out," Fayth said.
 

The Captain looked resigned, as if he expected her answer. "As soon as she has recovered, she has to leave. If we have to help her find somewhere to go, we will."

As strongly as pride at his honor and kindness overwhelmed her, she felt his disappointment. It was almost as if he thought she had manufactured a houseguest to keep a distance between them. She hadn't, of course, but guilt crept over her. Coral did provide a barrier, and Fayth was glad for it. "We’ll find her a place of her own once she gets established."

He nodded and the unspoken question hung in the air—was this the only reason she had met him?

She took his arm. "I wanted you to know before you got home. But of course, that's not the only reason I'm here." Her flattery went past him. Her nerves rendered her inept at flirtation. He remained distant. She forced a smile. "You should see the shop. The progress they've made the last week is astounding!"

The momentary flicker of hope in his eyes died as quickly as it had come and long before Fayth had time to be certain that it had been there at all.

Chapter 11

The girl waited for them, held the door wide open, smiled tentatively at Con when they arrived at the house. Con was relieved that at first glance she didn't look familiar. If he didn't remember her, maybe she didn't him. Con was about to set down the duffel he carried when she spoke.
 

"Welcome home, sir."

He straightened, recognizing her voice, and examined her closely. She was the youngest of Lou's girls. In that awkward moment, her return look warned him not to mention it. An ally?

Without aid of the harsh makeup Lou's girls usually applied, she was nearly unrecognizable. Except for the healing green-yellow bruises around her eye, she looked like any passably pretty sixteen-year-old. When she stood aside for them to pass, she moved gingerly, as if her side were tender. Probably had a few bruised ribs. Con suddenly had the urge to beat the man who had beaten her. What kind of coward abused women?

Aware that Fayth watched him closely, he allowed his indignation to show, smiled and greeted the girl, introduced himself. She responded politely in a voice devoid of recognition. Now that he looked closer, he was truly astounded at the difference in her from when he had last seen her at Lou's. She wore a new dress, obviously one of Fayth's, and her hair was done in a simple, unpretentious bun. She looked wholesome.

He smiled at his wife. Thankfully, she seemed unaware the two knew each other. His thoughts were momentarily diverted. Man alive, Fayth was beautiful. She was all he had thought about since leaving. Her feminine curves, her radiant smile, the soft slope of her shoulders . . .

And then there she'd been, waiting for him, but not for the reason he hoped. Had Fayth missed him at all? He felt Fayth watching him. Her gaze stalked him the way Olive hunted mice. Had Coral said something to her? Coral's presence made things damned awkward. He had to talk to her.

Fayth took his arm and led him to the kitchen. "Welcome home!"
 

A three-layer cake sat in the middle of the table surrounded by plates and forks, and freshly cut flowers.

"Let's have refreshments," Fayth said. "I'll cut." Fayth hurried to the counter for a knife.

"If you ladies don't mind, I'll unload the carriage while you set up. Where do I—"

"You still have your room." Fayth answered a little too quickly.
 

Hell, he had hoped he had a chance at sharing her bed. "You ladies share?"

"No, Coral is in the guestroom."

"What guestroom? You mean your sewing room? Where is your machine?"

Fayth smiled. "In the dining room. We never eat there."

"We certainly won't now." Coral laughed in a girlish, tinkling way.

"I guess we won't. Why miss what we never used?" He laughed in ironic response. Yes, why miss it. His thoughts were not on the dining room, but Fayth. He looked to the girl, with her infectious good humor. "Cut me a big slice of cake. I'll be back in a minute."

Fayth caught him in the hall, her expression a question.

"Until she's healed," he said.

She smiled and turned, leaving him in the hall.

That evening, Con sat in the kitchen with Olive tucked in his lap, watching as Coral busied herself preparing the evening meal. Fayth hadn't returned from town. He needed to speak with Coral, get things settled.

"You can hear Olive purring clear over here," Coral said. "How'd you get her to warm up to you? She hates men."

Con smiled. "Cats have a sixth sense. They know a warm heart when they meet one."

"Do they?"

Her manner was stiff, almost accusing. "When am I going to get you to warm up to me?" His voice held no innuendo.

"What do you mean, Captain?"

"Everyone, my crew excepted, calls me Con."

"Fayth doesn't."

"No, but you don't operate by her set of rules. I realize she calls me by my title to keep distance between us. It won't prevent the inevitable."