Always he had called her daughter that way, and the term now raised a wellspring of affection in Laura’s breast as Josiah offered open arms.
She went against his woodsy-smelling flannel shirt, closing her eyes as the stubble on his chin abraded her temple. “Hello, Josiah.”
He backed her away and smiled indulgently. “I was beginnin’t’ think this old cooperage’d never see y’r smile again.”
She turned to take it in. “Ah, yes, it’s been a long time, Josiah. It looks the same and smells just as good as ever.” Her eyes fell to the other shaving horse and found it empty. A stab of disappointment knifed through her.
“Undoubtedly y’re lookin’ for my son.”
She turned quickly and assured Josiah a little too brightly, “No ... no ... I ... I’ve only come to order a lid for a crock.”
Josiah squinted, replaced the pipe between his teeth, and went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “He’s stepped out for a minute, gone down t’ Old North Wharf t’ see about some hogsheads that’s bein’ packed aboard the Martha Hammond.” Laura took refuge in the unoccupied shaving horse, turning to study it again, but she gave up her pretense to ask softly, “How is he?” Behind her she heard the soft sibilance of Josiah drawing on his pipe.
“Fair to middlin’. Better’n Dan, from what I hear.”
Laura swung around, her face now drawn and pale. “I ... I guess everybody on the island must know how Dan has been drinking since ... since his father’s death.”
“Ayup.” Josiah picked up a side ax and intently tested its edge with a horny thumb. “They’re talkin’, all right.” Then he dropped the tool and swung onto his shaving horse again, turning his back to her and bending to work. “Been talkin’ some about how that woman DeLaine Hussey finds excuses t’ come pokin’ around the cooperage every other day or so, too.”
Laura spun around to gape at Josiah’s flexing shoulders. “DeLaine Hussey?”
“Ayup.”
“What does she want?”
Josiah smiled secretly at Laura’s sudden, vitriolic response. “What does any woman want who dreams up excuses t’ put herself in a man’s vicinity?” Josiah let that sink in while he drew his knife toward his knees, shaving a wide white wood curl from the stave, then another and another. Next, he tested the concave curve with his fingers, running them time and again along the piece until he deemed it fit, and released it from the wooden jaws of the footclamp. “She came in t’ buy a piggin for her mother, then she brought a basket of beach plums, then a batch of orange cookies.”
“Orange cookies!”
Again Josiah smiled, though Laura could not see, for he’d kept his back to her. “Ayup. Tasty they was, too.”
“O ... orange cookies? She brought Rye orange cookies?”
“Ayup.”
“What did he think about that?”
“Why, as I recall, he said he thought they was tasty, too. Seemed t’ enjoy ’em tremendously. Then after that, I guess it was the cinnamon apples, then—let’s see—oh, o’ course. Then she came t’ ask if he was goin’t’ the clambake.”
“What clambake?”
“Starbuck’s annual clambake. Last o’ the season. Whole island’s bound t’ be there. Didn’t Dan tell y’ about it?”
“He ... he must’ve forgotten to mention it.”
“Forgets a lot these days, Dan does. Even forgets t’ go home at night and eat his supper, the way I’ve heard tell.” From the doorway a voice boomed. “Old man, y’r jaws’re flappin’!”
Rye stood tall and stiff-shouldered at the entrance, dressed in high black boots, tight gray breeches, and a thick sweater that hugged his neck and emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. Laura felt her heart leap at the sight of him.
Rye glowered darkly at his father while Josiah, unflustered, only agreed amiably, “Ayup.”
“I’d suggest y’ put a lock on ’em!” his son returned none too gently, while Laura wondered how long he’d been listening.
The unflappable Josiah only inquired, “What took y’ so long? Customer’s waitin’.”
Rye at last looked directly at Laura, but when his gaze drifted from her face down her arm, she realized she was standing beside his shaving horse, her fingers resting caressingly on the high arm of its clamp. She jumped and jerked her hand away, then crossed to Josiah’s side, pulling the piece of tatting string from the pocket of her cape. “I told you it wasn’t necessary for me to see Rye. You can do the work as well. All I need is a ... a cover for a crock. This long.”
Josiah squinted one blue-gray eye at the string in her palm, puffed once, twice, then turned away uninterestedly. “I don’t do covers. He does.” He gave a backward nod at Rye.
Helplessly, she stared at the string, thinking of DeLaine Hussey and Rye and a clambake. Laura was now utterly embarrassed for having come to the cooperage at all. But just then she sensed Rye at her elbow.
“When do y’ need it?”
His voice was unemotional as a wide, familiar, callused palm came into Laura’s range of vision, outstretched for the string. She handed it over, making certain not to touch him. “Whenever you get around to it.” “Will the end o’ the week be soon enough?”
“Oh ... certainly, but there’s no need to rush.”
He strode across the room and tossed the string onto the waist-high workbench, then stood with his back to the room, palms braced hard against the edge of the bench, far away from his sides. “Will y’ come t’ pick it up?” He stared out the window above the bench.
“I ... yes, yes, of course.”
“It’ll be done.”
His back was rigid. He neither turned nor spoke again, and Laura felt tears prickling at the backs of her eyelids. She presented a false, wavering smile to Josiah. “Well ... it’s been nice seeing you again, Josiah. And you, too, Rye.”
The wide-held arms and stubborn shoulders didn’t move. Her tears were now stinging, closer to overflowing, so Laura whirled and ran for the door.
“Laura!”
At Rye’s bark, her feet didn’t even slow. She jerked the door open while from behind her came a muffled curse, then, “Laura, wait!” But she swept outside and onto the street, leaving Rye to give chase in a long-legged stride. He shouldered through the door into the wind-wild day.
“Hove to, woman!” he ordered, grasping her elbow and forcing her to stop.
She swung around and yanked her elbow free. “Don’t speak to me as if I’m the ... the miserable whaleship that took you out to sea!”
“Why’d y’ come here? Isn’t it hard enough?” His eyes blazed down into hers.
“I needed a lid for a crock. This is the cooperage where one gets such things!”
“Y’ could have got one at the chandlery as well.”
“Next time I will!”
“I told y’t’ keep out of my sight.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Dalton, I had a temporary lapse of memory. You can be assured it won’t happen again, unless, of course, it’s absolutely unavoidable. In which case I would make sure I came with a basket full of orange cookies to pay for my wares.”
His eyes took on a hooded look and he backed a step away from her, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “The old man doesn’t know when t’ shut his trap.”
“I disagree. I found his conversation very ... enlightening.”
Rye pointed a finger up the street, scowling angrily. “It’s all right for you t’ live up there on the hill with him, but when it comes t’ me and DeLaine Hussey, it’s a different matter, is that it?”
“You may do exactly what you want with Miss DeLaine Hussey!” She spat the words.
“Thank you, madam, I will!”
She had expected him to deny spending time with DeLaine. When instead he confirmed it, the pain seemed too great to bear. Haughtily, she looked down her nose, then lifted cold eyes to his and arched a single eyebrow. “Have you taught her how to employ the shaving bench yet? I’m sure she’d find it delightful.”
For a m
oment Rye looked as though he wanted to strike her. His fingers bit into her arm, then he let her go, and a moment later he spun and strode angrily back to the cooperage, slamming the door behind him.
Immediately, Laura felt remorseful and wanted to run after him. But her angry words could not be recalled.
They were still echoing through her mind that night as she lay in bed, crying. Why did I say such a thing, oh why? He’s right—I have no call to fault him for seeing DeLaine Hussey when I’m still living with Dan.
But there existed the very real possibility that DeLaine might eventually succeed in charming Rye, and it filled Laura with fear. Rye was lonely and miserable and more vulnerable than ever to a woman’s advances. Laura remembered very clearly the night of the supper at the Starbucks’ and DeLaine’s flirtatious glances, as well as all that business about the Female Freemasons. There could be no doubt the woman had her sails set for Rye. In his forsaken state, how long could he resist the invitation of affection ... and perhaps much more?
Chapter 16
THE FOLLOWING DAY Laura’s face looked as grim as the Nantucket skies as she set out for Jane’s house to fetch Josh home. The open heathland was no longer a magic carpet of color. The sweet fern, Virginia creeper, and highbush blueberry had all succumbed to the ravages of frost, their golds and rusts now put aside. The huckleberry branches were no more than skeletal black fingers reaching bleakly toward the sky. The grapes that had formed a wall of green now shrouded the split-rail fences in barren tangles from which came the sharp, lonely bark of a pheasant who searched there for any last clinging berries. The double cart track of white sand wound through the hills before Laura with a singular loneliness common to late October. The sky was leaden and low, so heavy in places that it reached downward to lick at the barren moors that shivered as the wind picked up and moaned a lament for the passing of autumn. Soon the northers would bluster and blow, and the island would be battered by strong seas, then sealed off by ice and snow.
It seemed the world had taken on a brooding sadness to complement Laura’s own. Her heart felt heavy, and she shuddered inside her woolen cape, drew the hood together tightly beneath her chin, and hurried on.
***
Jane took one look at her sister and said, “I’d better put on the tea. I think you can use it.”
Half of Jane’s brood had gone to school, leaving the house, for once, almost peaceful. A warm fire burned beneath the crane, and Josh came running with a welcome hug before Jane wisely bustled him and his cousins off into another room with a bowl of crisp-baked pumpkin seeds to nibble on. Then the two sisters settled across the table from each other, sipping strong mint-flavored tea.
“You look terrible,” Jane opened frankly. “Your eyes are all swollen and your face is puffy.”
“I had myself a good cry last night, that’s why.”
“Caused by which of the two men in your life?”
“The one I’m trying to avoid—Rye.”
“Ah, Rye. I take it you’ve heard about DeLaine Hussey, then.”
Laura’s head snapped up in surprise. “Y ... you know about it, too?”
Jane met her gaze steadily. “The whole island knows about DeLaine Hussey’s unabashed pursuit of Rye. It shouldn’t come as such a surprise to you that I’ve heard about it, too.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I haven’t seen much of you. You’ve been hiding away down there, I suspect, so you wouldn’t run into Rye.”
Laura sighed. “You’re right, I have been hiding away—scared to death of running into him someplace.”
The room grew silent for a moment while Jane studied her sister’s eyes. Beneath them were small swollen pillows of purple. “It’s that strong between you two, is it?”
The truth was printed on each tired line of her face. “Yes, Jane, it is. I ... we ...” And without warning the tears came again. She covered her face with both hands and braced her elbows on the table. “Oh, Jane, I’ve met Rye alone, I’ve ... I’ve been with him again, and it’s made my life a living hell.”
Jane placed a comforting hand on Laura’s forearm, stroking it lightly with a thumb. “Been with him as a man and woman, you mean, in the fullest sense of the word.” It was not really a question.
Behind her hands, Laura nodded her head wretchedly. Jane patiently waited for the fit of weeping to pass. When it had, she pressed a handkerchief into Laura’s hands, and while Laura blew her nose, the two shared quavering smiles.
“Oh, Jane, you must think I’m terribly wicked, admitting that.”
“No, dear, I don’t. Not at all. I’ve told you before, I always knew how it was between you and Rye. Do you think I’ve been blind during all these years you’ve been married to Dan? I knew there was ... well, something missing between you two. I only wondered when you’d admit it. Apparently, it took Rye’s return for that to happen.”
“I tried to stay away from Rye, believe me, Jane, I did.” Laura’s haunted eyes pleaded for understanding. “But I met him one day up in the hills when I’d gone to the mill to order flour. Josh was with me and ... and seeing the two of them together, looking so much alike ... I ... well, he asked me to meet him and I did. The following day. That’s the day I brought Josh here, the day when ... when Zachary died.”
The full implication of Laura’s words struck her sister, and Jane crooned sympathetically, “Oh, Laura, no.”
Laura swallowed hard and nodded. She took a fortifying gulp of tea, then warmed her palms around the cup. “I thought perhaps you’d guessed.”
“I suppose I did, about how difficult it was for you and Rye. But I had no idea it had happened that particular day.”
Laura studied her cup, remembering. “Fateful, isn’t it, that while Rye and I met and ... and deceived Dan, he was out searching for his father on the bar.”
“Oh, Laura, you aren’t saying you blame yourself for Zachary’s death?”
Laura’s eyes were etched with pain as she fixed them on her sister. “Don’t you understand? We were out there together, and when we returned to town, it was to the news that Zach was missing. The next time Rye and I saw each other was ... was down at the wharf. But Dan was there, too, and ... oh, Jane, I’ll never forget the sight of Dan turning to Rye when he came in with the search party. He tried to ... to resist going to him, but he couldn’t. He needed comfort, and right there before the whole town, the two of them flung their arms around each other right after Rye and I had ... oh, everything is so mixed up.” Again Laura dropped her face into her hands. “I feel so guilty!”
“I suppose that’s natural, but to blame yourself for Zach’s death is foolish. You’re no more responsible for the fact that Zach drowned than you are for the fact that Rye Dalton didn’t! I’ll grant you the timing was unfortunate, but that’s all I’ll concede!”
“But you weren’t there the night of the funeral when Dan was so drunk.”
“I wasn’t there, but I heard about it.”
“Oh, Jane, it was dreadful. But it was true, everything he accused me of. I’m the one who’s driven Dan to drink, and there’s no way to cover up my feelings for Rye. I’ve vowed to stay away from him for six months, at least during the period of mourning. But Dan has guessed how I feel. He never comes home until late at night, then he stumbles in, too inebriated for us even to talk. And all the time I keep wondering, even after six months—if I divorce Dan and go to Rye, how can we face Dan then?”
Suddenly, Jane jumped to her feet, going to fetch more hot water for tea. “You know the answer to that, Laura. You’ve always known. This island is not big enough for all three of you. It never has been.”
“N ... not big enough?”
Jane replaced the kettle on the hearth, then turned and impaled her sister with a look that would force Laura to admit the truth. “Hardly. It wouldn’t matter which of the two you’re married to. There’s bound to be conjecture about the other, and you’re bound to confront each other time and again and dredge up the pas
t. Somebody will have to leave sooner or later.”
“But Nantucket is our home, all three of ours!” Laura wailed.
Jane moved briskly back to her chair, but suddenly she looked ill at ease. Lifting her cup, she fixed her eyes on it as if reading its tea leaves. “There’s been talk, Laura.”
“Talk?” Laura looked puzzled.
“I can see you haven’t heard.”
“Heard what?”
“There’s been a man visiting the island, named Throckmorton. He’s an agent for a land company that’s organizing a group of families to go to the Michigan Territory, come spring.”
“M ... Michigan?” Laura’s brown eyes widened.
“Michigan.” Jane swallowed a mouthful of tea. “To settle a new town there. And as you know, no town can survive without a ... a cooper.”
Laura’s lips dropped open as realization dawned. “Oh no,” she whispered.
“This man, this Mr. Throckmorton, has been seen at the cooperage more than once.”
Foolishly, Laura looked toward the door, as if she could see the cooperage from where she sat. “Rye? Rye is planning to go to the frontier?” Laura’s eyes again sought Jane’s, hoping for denial.
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard that. All I’ve heard is that this Mr. Throckmorton has been sent to New England to drum up excitement, to seek skilled men, the kind of men necessary to carve out a living in the wilderness. They say a man can have all the land he wants. It’s free for the taking. All he has to do is live on it and clear it and farm it for a year.”
“But Rye is no farmer.”
“Of course he isn’t. I doubt that he’d homestead. He’d be going where his skill as a barrel maker would make him far more successful than farming.”
“Oh, Jane!” Laura fairly wailed.
“I’m not saying it’s true that Rye’s going. I’m only saying what I’ve heard. I thought you should know.”