The Whiskey Tide (11 page)

     
Joe snorted good naturedly and straddled a chair.

     
"Okay if I take off with a buddy for a couple of days?"

     
His uncles didn't even seem to glance at each other. Vic shrugged.

     
"Why not? Fishing's lousy anyway. Young Mike's itching to have a go with us, scrawny little mutt. We'll let him fill in."

     
Joe smiled at the thought of his twelve-year-old cousin going out with the older men. He'd be dragging tail by the end of each day, but he'd have a wonderful time.

     
Vic was studying him, speculation in the lines of his weathered face. But he wouldn't ask questions. And Joe wouldn't burden him with the truth of what he was up to. While his uncles were glad enough to enjoy the fruits brought to market by rum-runners, they might be uneasy about one of their own participating. The less they knew, the less they'd worry.

     
"As long as Sebastian doesn't go filling his ears with tales about the ladies," Joe said.

     
They chuckled. On the floor above them, one of Arliss' kids gave a sudden, screeching wail, frightened by a dream probably. It woke another one, who howled in chorus.

     
Vic shook his head in sympathy.

     
"Poor Arliss. She worries herself sick about the ruckus they make when they wake like that. Wish that fat-headed landlord would let us build on a nice little room for her and the kids. I've told him we'd pay for the whole lot ourselves — match the roof shingles, make it look good."

     
They sat in silence for a moment. A limp breeze made its way in through the window next to the sink. Joe thought of the paneling and rich upholstery on the boat he'd sail on tomorrow. Fine things this family would never know. Even given that, he couldn't accept that his cousin was doomed to a lifetime of bleakness when she was barely twenty-three.

     
"Maybe Arliss will marry again and have a place of her own," he suggested.

     
"How can she marry again when she's got a husband?" Vic asked sharply. "Even if the good-for-nothing bastard did leave her.”

***

     
When the alarm clattered next to her head, Kate thought for an instant she was back at college. She silenced it quickly as realization sliced into her there in her darkened room. She lay with heart pounding. Had anyone heard? Nervousness knotted every part of her body, and for an interminable interval she thought she might throw up. She must have taken leave of her senses to hatch such an undertaking. What if there was a storm? What if they were arrested? What if they were becalmed so long en route back that she started her menstrual cycle?

     
Grimly she pushed herself out of bed. This promised at least a postponement of their money problems. She would not back down. She pulled on a pair of trousers outgrown by Theo when he was fourteen and a white cotton blouse whose sleeves she could roll if it grew too hot at midday. On top she added a bulky sweater that had belonged to Pa. It made him seem still accessible. Stuffing a change of clothes and some toiletries into a carpet bag, she headed downstairs.

     
Peg wouldn't arrive for a good half hour. Kate discarded a pair of shoes by the kitchen table and got bread from the bread box, leaving a few crumbs as reassuring evidence she'd been around. As she shoved the freshly cut bread into her pocket, it occurred to Kate she should probably take cheese and other provisions for the trip. Berating herself for not thinking sooner, she opened the door of the gas refrigerator.

     
"I fixed you a hamper of food."

     
Kate whirled at the whisper and saw Rosalie in her dressing gown. Her sister glided across the floor to the pantry and ducked inside.

     
"Here." With a small smile she handed Kate a basket that was unexpectedly heavy. "Now do pay attention; I know you're dreadfully unaware about domestic things. You must eat the fried chicken today or throw it out. The cheese will keep. There's some jam and pears and an apple pie." She paused to laugh softly. "I know that was silly, but I thought it might cheer you — bring you good luck or whatever." Her arms went quickly around Kate's shoulders. "Do be careful, Kate."

     
Kate nodded, touched by her sister's goodness. Never in a hundred years would she have expected Rosalie to become an ally in a venture like this.

     
"Now hurry," Rosalie urged giving her a nudge. "You don't want Peg to see you taking off like a refugee."

     
With the hamper in one hand and her carpet bag in the other, Kate supposed she did fit Rosalie's description as she made her way down the beach stairs. Dawn had barely divided ocean from sky. The wood beneath her feet was slippery with dew. A feeling of having the whole world to herself rose to greet her as she neared the water. She wasn't alone, of course. Two shapes stepped from the shadows of the masts as she reached the small dock where the
Folly
was moored. Excitement dissipated the fear inside her as Billy hurried forward to help her carry.

     
"Looks like the weather is with us," Joe Santayna said with a nod of greeting.

     
Kate took a breath, aware of his tousled black hair and the fact she was going to be in the company of this man she didn't know for days on end. He looked more like a fisherman today. Boots. A faded blue shirt under a thick sweater and a thicker outer jacket.

     
"Whatever are these for?" she asked nearly tripping over a bushel crate of potatoes that sat on deck.

     
"Emergencies." The briefness of his reply invited no further questions. "Billy, stow what you're carrying and let's get under way." He stepped to the mainmast. "You take the wheel till we get to Ma and Pa Baker," he added to Kate.

     
As he spoke he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it aside. Kate's breath caught at the sight of the long-barreled service revolver strapped to his hip. He turned and caught her startled look. His eyebrows raised.

     
"Yes?"

     
"We're all respectable people, and there haven't been pirates around for years. Don't you think that's a bit out of place?"

     
The blue of the ocean flooded into his eyes with the morning sun. Amusement traveled the curve of his mouth.

     
"What exactly do you think we're setting off on, Miss Hinshaw? A picnic?"

Seven

     
Ever since they'd set sail Joe had been hard pressed to ignore the fact Kate Hinshaw was wearing trousers. They were practical, no question, but they made him aware of her thighs — and damned attractive those thighs looked to be. Her attire suggested a disregard for convention at odds with her proper manner. That contradiction, even more than her figure, distracted him. Not that he hadn't seen another woman or two in trousers. Mae Sullivan wore them frequently. Of course Mae also had hairs on her chin. Kate Hinshaw's chin was first-rate, yet she seemed completely unaware of her own allure.

     
It was getting toward midmorning. Crisp westerly winds moved them along at almost nine knots, which was the maximum they'd get from this beautiful but sedate vessel. The wheelspoke nestled quietly in his curled fingers. Behind them Cape Ann was slipping from view, the only jut of land in an otherwise straight route between Salem and New Brunswick. Joe stole a glance at the serious young woman who'd hired him and saw her tilting her face toward the open sea as if nothing could bring her more pleasure.

     
She showed no inclination to make conversation, which surprised him. She seemed content with the company of the sea. Vic and Drake would never believe it. A rich girl. Her baggy sweater and the narrow brimmed hat she'd jammed on to ward off the sun couldn't hide her breeding, yet with hair blowing and lips faintly parted she looked like a bowsprite.

     
"How far north have you sailed?" he asked.

     
She stirred from some reverie and shifted her spot near the mainsail.

     
"Only to Portsmouth." She smiled at the memory. "And you?"

     
"Bar Harbor a couple of times before the war."

     
Fishing off Salem had been so poor Uncle Vic had started to worry they might lose the boat. Their three-day trips up the Maine coast had scarcely been more productive, yet somehow had served to turn their luck around. The Santaynas had begun to make a decent catch in their own waters while other fishermen still returned with empty nets.

     
"That's about halfway, isn't it?" Kate asked. "I looked at a map last night."

     
He nodded. "A bit more. This side of Grand Manan Island we'll put ashore in a fishing village and take on a pilot who knows the Bay of Fundy."

     
He saw objection form on her lips. She held it back.

     
"It won't cost much, and it'll be worth it," he continued. "Do you know what the tide is off Salem?"

     
"Six feet."

     
"Right. In the Bay of Fundy it's forty-two."

     
She was silent a moment, absorbing the enormity of it.

     
"Also... " Joe shifted the wheel slightly as he felt the wind change pressure against his cheek. Kate Hinshaw's gaze went automatically to the sails, assessing their tautness. "Also there's a good deal of fog, they tell me. Worse than Maine. Warm air from the Gulf Stream hitting the Labrador Current." Her attention turned from the sails and she looked briefly startled at his smattering of science. "Can you read charts?" he asked.

     
"A little."

     
"Good. You'll have to keep course while I catch a few hours' sleep here and there."

     
He saw her swallow.

***

     
By afternoon Kate had learned not to turn and look when the men went to the stern and stood at the pulpit with backs toward her. The first time it happened she'd thought they must be looking down at something in the water, and felt excluded. The next time, Joe Santayna had asked her to watch the shrouds for a minute and had strolled back with Billy. After several minutes she'd twisted around, concerned that something might be wrong with the boat. She'd caught them at the rail with Billy glancing nervously over his shoulder. It had come to her with blinding realization that the men were taking a pee. Why they didn't use the head belowdecks she had no idea.

     
Now she paid no attention as they made their way past her. Her attention was held by a nameless cluster of cottages on the rock strewn coast gliding by on her left. The
Folly
would pass Casco Bay well before nightfall, Joe said. Her exhilarated spirits marked the miles, the names of places she never before had seen. Ogunquit. Kennebunkport. And tonight or tomorrow, Boothbay. The currents beneath the
Folly
seemed to dance, as if sharing her excitement.

     
"Pie and everything!" Billy sighed when they'd passed Old Orchard and spread their supper on two overturned crates. His cheeks glowed with the adventure. "You put yourself out some, fixing like this."

     
Kate laughed, her mouth filled with chicken.

     
"Oh, Billy. I can't cook. My sister did it."

     
"Miss Rosalie?"

     
She nodded. His freckled cheeks were rapturous as they tore at a drumstick. As he swallowed the last of it, he started to frown.