“What is it?” The boy moved nearer his grandfather’s knee.
“ ’Tain’t much. Just a couple little companions f’r the long trip.”
The wooden lid came up in Josiah’s hands, and from within the box came a duet of cheeps.
“Chicks!” Already Josh was reaching eagerly, smiling and fairly squealing, “You mean we can keep ’em on the boat?”
“We’d better. The way I heard tell, there ain’t many chickens in Michigan. Thought we’d best start up a flock right away so y’r mother’d have eggs f’r her cookin’.”
Ship nosed forward and sniffed at the puff ball in Josh’s hand. Already Josh seemed to have forgotten Rye and Laura. Josiah reached into his breast pocket and found a cold pipe, clamped it between his teeth while studying the boy, the chick, and the dog. He raised laconic eyes to Laura while continuing drolly, “Y’ know, Joshua, I c’d use some help pamperin’ them chicks, so I hope y’r mother don’t mind if y’ sleep in here with ’em.”
Josh spun around and all but climbed Laura’s skirts in enthusiasm. “Can I? Please, can I? Me and ... me and Grampa, we got to take care of ’em and keep ’em warm and stuff, and make sure Ship don’t eat ’em up!”
Rye and Laura laughed. She managed to catch Josiah’s eye, found a charming twinkle there, and hoped he understood the wordless message of thanks she flashed.
“Yes, of course you can, Josh.”
Immediately, he turned back to the box on Josiah’s knees. “We gotta name ’em, don’t we, Grampa?”
“Name them chickens? I never heard of no chickens with names!”
“Well, I can see you two don’t need us, so we’ll get settled next door.” Rye took Laura’s elbow and a shaft of fire seemed to sizzle up her arm. Josiah and Josh didn’t even look up as they made their exit.
Inside their own cabin, the door was closed and all was silent but for the pulsating throb of the steam engine shimmying up through the floor. There was no porthole, only the oil lamp swaying on its hook, and Laura knew, to the exact highlight and shadow, what Rye’s face would look like by its golden light should she turn and lift her eyes. But she stood facing the bunks, feeling him close behind her shoulder.
“It’s not very fancy,” he apologized, but she heard instead the note of tight control in his voice.
“When have I ever needed anything fancy?” She felt both of Rye’s hands move up her back and circle her neck.
“Never,” he said thickly. Then, as if he didn’t trust himself, he dropped his hands from her.
“Were the chicks your idea?” she asked.
“Nay, my father gets the credit for that.”
“Josiah is very astute.”
“Aye.”
She wanted to turn, but felt as shy as a violet blossom. Her heart was giving the engine some competition, throbbing so powerfully she thought surely it was her own pulse shaking the boards beneath the soles of her shoes.
Rye cleared his throat. “Well ... I have t’ talk t’ the captain, so why don’t you—”
“Josiah didn’t dream up those chicks for nothing, Rye,” she interrupted, turning at last to face him. “Don’t you dare run off to the captain without—”
His mouth cut off her words, and she was in Rye’s arms at last! His kiss was a rich, sensual welcome while his arms slipped within her cape to haul her up tight against his chest, and hers looped about his neck as her feet left the floor. Then Rye’s warm, wet tongue was all over and around Laura’s, and she whisked the cap from his head and held it in one hand while the other threaded his coarse hair.
He turned, backing her up against the cabin door, pressing the length of his body against hers while their kiss became a wild search for relief. She ran her tongue along the sleek texture of his teeth, then explored the moist depths of his mouth, missing none of its familiar landmarks.
He let her slip down only far enough that their stomachs and hips met and used his tremendous strength to wedge her between the door and his body, pressing so hard the breath was forced from her lungs. He was fully tumescent and wasted not a moment letting her know. His hips made figure eights as they ground against hers, thrusting the hard male ridge against the equally hard rise of her mons.
Desire sent a liquid rush of feeling to the part of her against which Rye pressed. She felt it, gloried in it, welcomed it! But Laura was impaled against the door, unable to transmit her own tacit message of arousal.
“Rye, put me down,” she managed.
“If I do and my hands are free, there’ll be no stoppin’ them.”
“I don’t care.”
“Yes y’ do. Y’ want t’ get married first, so I’ll put y’ down, but then I’ll go see the captain about arrangin’ it, agreed?”
“Blast you, Rye Dalton,” she murmured against his lips, provocatively inserting her tongue into his mouth between words. “What a time ... for you to do ... the proper thing.”
“Agreed?” he repeated, moving his head back only far enough to escape her darting tongue.
“Oh all right, agreed.”
She felt her toes regain the floor, and his hands steadied her for a moment while her skirt still clung to his trousers. He backed a step away and the skirt fell properly into place.
His voice seemed to throb like the engine while his impassioned blue eyes fixed upon hers. “But I’m warnin’ y' t’night will be a different matter.”
She rose up on tiptoe and placed the wool cap on his head, adjusted its narrow visor to a raffish angle, and studied her effort. “It had better be,” she rejoined softly.
They kissed once more, Rye’s hands running possessively up her ribs while she touched his jaw. Then he put her away and backed off a step. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Meanwhile, get y’rself ready for our weddin’ ... again. Only this time when he says till death do us part, y’ can believe it.”
Then he turned and was gone.
She smiled at the door, then spun around. Her body felt combustible! This restraint was playing havoc with her composure. She took four deep breaths, but found it did little good, and at last ran a hand down the front of her skirt and clutched herself in an effort to quell the throbbing begun by his caress.
What time is it? Barely noon. How many hours to wait? Until at least eight o’clock, when we can respectably retire for the night. Goodness me, how will I last that long?
***
She removed her bonnet and cape and prowled about the small cabin, testing the mattress, pushing the suitcase and sea chest against the wall. There was no unpacking to do because no place was provided for the storage of extra clothes. Time crawled.
When Rye returned, he found Laura sitting on the edge of the lower bunk. She flew to her feet as he stepped inside, closed the door, and leaned back against it.
“Four o’clock,” he announced without preamble.
“Four o’clock,” she echoed like a litany.
“Aye. In the captain’s cabin.” His eyes assessed her yellow dress with an expression of strained forbearance.
“Well,” she said breathlessly, raising her palms and glancing around as if expecting some diversion to come jumping out of the cabin walls.
He sucked in an enormous breath, let it out slowly while tilting his cap back beyond his hairline with a thumb. Then he heaved himself away from the cabin door, opened it, and stepped back. “Let’s go see how the chicks’re doin’.”
Laura’s knees felt watery from relief.
The four of them spent a pleasant half hour watching the chicks and the dog, who by now was less inquisitive and allowed the tiny yellow birds to be placed between her paws and even on her head.
Shortly after noon, a bell announced dinner, which was served in a long forward salon as lackluster as the rest of the craft. Tables and benches filled the room, and there was little space for the galley help to pass between them with the hot seafood chowder and hard dark bread that comprised the meal.
Laura sat next to Rye, scorchingly aware of every
brush of his thigh against hers. The conversation around the table ran on brightly as passengers compared destinations and home ports. It was unnecessary to reveal that Laura and Rye were to be married that afternoon, for everybody took them to be a married couple, since Josh was with them, and Josiah, too.
In the afternoon, Rye left Laura in the cabin to rest if she wanted, while he excused himself, taking his suitcase next door. But she was keyed up so tightly it was impossible to relax. She found herself continuously checking the tiny gold pendant watch pinned near her collarbone, and finally, when it read three o’clock, she went next door to fetch Josh, ordering, much to the boy’s dismay, that it was time for him to change clothes and get ready.
She had decided to wear the yellow dress, had recombed her hair into a flattering nutmeg top knot, but was nervously indecisive about whether or not to wear her bonnet.
“What do you think, Josh?”
But Josh was little help. He merely shrugged and wondered why his mother was acting as flappy as a fish out of water.
At ten to four, a knock sounded and Laura sucked in a quick breath and whispered, “You answer it, Josh!”
The door opened upon a freshly combed, freshly shaved Rye Dalton, decked out in the same splendid suit he’d worn the night of Joseph Starbuck’s party. The green trousers clung to his thighs as the skin hugs a grape. The jacket delineated his shoulders’ breadth and musculature with awesome precision. His sienna skin was temptingly foiled by the snowy ruffles that fell to his knuckles and the tightly wound stock that climbed his neck nearly to his side-whiskers.
“Are y’ready?”
I’ve been ready since I was fifteen.
Laura reined in her wild thoughts and managed to utter hoarsely, “Yes, both of us.”
He nodded and stepped back from the door, through which Josh immediately began to precede his mother, only to be halted in midstride by his father’s strong hand.
“Ladies first, young man.”
They were joined in the companionway by Josiah, and the four made their way up to the main aft deck and the captain’s quarters.
Captain Benjamin Swain was a burly mutton-chopped man with red cheeks and a raw scrape to his voice. He stepped back to allow them entrance, raspily welcoming, “Step inside! Step inside!” But he was surprised to see the shortest of the quartet, who followed on his mother’s heels. “Well, now who have we here?”
Josh looked up. “Joshua Morgan, sir.”
“Joshua Morgan, is it?”
Josh nodded, giving the captain no further enlightenment.
The ruddy-cheeked captain closed the door and cleared his throat with a thunderous rumble. “This is m’ first mate, Dardanelle McCallister,” Captain Swain announced. “Thought y’ might need a witness.”
Rye and the first mate shook hands. “Mr. McCallister, I thank y’, but we won’t be needin’ y’. My father will act as witness.”
“Ah, very well, sir, then I’ll take m’self off to other duties.”
Other introductions were made all around, and Laura’s hand was crushed in the tight grip of the captain.
His cabin was the most luxurious part of the craft. It had rich walls of waxed teak and finely crafted fittings such as the belowdecks cubicles hadn’t. A carved bedstead covered one end of the room while on another was a long pigeonholed desk and closed storage cabinet resembling a chifforobe. The center of the room was monopolized by a table over which were strewn maps, ledgers, a brass sextant, and compass. There was more space than their own cabins afforded, but still, with five people in this room, it was undeniably crowded.
Captain Swain motioned them to stand to one side of the desk while he stooped to fetch a Bible from its lower drawer.
Laura stood between Rye and Josiah, while Josh took up a place before them, with Rye’s hands resting on the boy’s shoulders. The captain began paging through the book, but before he found what he was looking for, Josiah leaned forward and whispered something in his ear. Rye and Laura exchanged curious glances but were left unenlightened as the whispered exchange continued, then the captain nodded his head, found his place, and looked up with a second clearing of his throat.
“All ready, then?”
Josh’s rooster tail bobbed as he nodded enthusiastically. The captain puffed out his chest and began reading a simple prayer. Beside Laura, Rye’s elbow seemed to quiver as it brushed hers. She stared at the gold buttons on the captain’s protruding stomach. The prayer ended, and the rotund man dropped the book and extemporized.
“Y’ve come to me on this, the thirtieth day of March, eighteen thirty-eight, to join together as man and wife. Is that correct, Mr. Dalton?”
“That’s correct.”
“Is that correct, Miss Morgan?”
“That’s correct—Mrs. Morgan.”
The captain arched a brow. “Mrs. Morgan, yes,” he amended. “And to the best of your knowledge, is there any reason why the Commonwealth of Massachusetts should not grant its seal to your wishes?” He looked first at Rye, then at Laura. In turn, they answered, “None.”
“Marriage is a state into which you must enter with all intentions of making it last a lifetime. Do you both so intend? Mr. Dalton?”
“Yes, I do,” Rye answered.
“Yes, I do,” Laura answered.
“And it is also a state into which none should enter without the bond of love. Do you promise to love each other for the rest of your lives?”
“I promise ...” Rye turned loving eyes on Laura, “for the rest o’ my life.”
“I promise,” she echoed, meeting his blue eyes, “for the rest of my life.”
“And who will witness this union?”
“I will,” Josiah stated. “Josiah Dalton.”
The captain nodded. “And who gives this woman?”
“I do,” Josh piped up.
The captain quirked an eyebrow—obviously this was the part of the ceremony about which he’d been prompted. “And you are?”
“I’m Josh.” He looked up over his left shoulder. “She’s my mother.” Then he looked up over his right. “And he’s my father.”
The captain forgot protocol. “What!”
Laura bit her lip to keep from smiling. Beside her, Rye colored and shuffled his feet.
“She’s my mother and he’s my father, and I give ’em permission to get married.”
The captain gathered his wits and proceeded. “Very well, and are there any rings?”
There was a sudden flurry of activity as Laura pulled open the drawstring of a tiny reticule and the groom—to the captain’s utter amazement—pulled a gold wedding band off his finger and handed it to his bride. Then they faced the captain as if nothing unusual were taking place here.
The captain’s mouth hung open as he realized the groom would be wearing the same wedding ring again.
“You gonna marry ’em or not?” Josh asked, fidgeting now.
“Oh ... oh, yes, where were we?”
“Are there any rings,” Josh reminded the captain, who harrumphed in an effort to cover his confusion.
“Oh yes, so repeat after me while you’re placing the ring on her finger. ‘With this ring I take you, Laura Morgan, for my wife, forsaking all others, loving only you, till the end of our days on this earth.’ ”
Laura gazed at Rye’s callused fingers holding the gold band on the appropriate knuckle. His own trembled, as did his voice while he repeated the words of the captain. Then he slipped the gold band onto her finger for the second time in her life.
She took Rye’s left hand in hers and held the ring he’d just removed. It still held the warmth of his flesh, captured in the polished gold. She held it shakily while Captain Swain dictated the words again and her subdued voice repeated them.
“With this ring I take you, Rye Dalton, for my husband, forsaking all others, loving only you, till the end of our days on this earth.”
She slid the ring on securely and her face lifted to find his pale blue eyes waiting as
the captain sealed the union.
“By the power vested in me by the ...” He took a moment to glance out the cabin window at the shoreline and verify their location. “...by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, I now pronounce you man and wife.”
“For once and for all,” Josiah mumbled, smiling in satisfaction as his tall, strapping son bent over the woman who lifted her lips for his kiss. He watched the couple part, then break into two of the most beaming smiles Josiah had ever seen as they impetuously hugged each other one more time.
“Well, you goin’t’ keep her all t’ yourself or y’ goin’t’ let an old man get in on this?”
While Josiah hugged Laura, Rye shook hands with Captain Swain, but suddenly realized Josh’s short stature put him well below the action. Rye leaned down and scooped the little one up.
“I think the bride deserves a kiss from her son.” Perched on Rye’s powerful arm, the child leaned to kiss his mother. The joy reflected in her face brought a bright smile to his face, too. Her laughter lilted through the cabin before she looked into Josh’s eyes and spoke softly. “I think the groom deserves a kiss from his son, too.”
For a moment Josh hesitated, his small hand resting at the back of Rye’s collar, his other behind Laura’s neck, uniting them into a trio. When he moved to touch his rosebud lips to Rye’s for the first time, a current of joy swelled the man’s heart. Josh straightened, and with their eyes so close together and so very much alike, the two studied each other. The moment seemed to stretch into eternity. Then suddenly Josh’s hand left Laura and he flung both arms around Rye and buried his face in the strong neck that smelled of cedar. Rye’s eyes closed as he breathed deeply to control the floodtide of emotion generated by the embrace.
The captain cleared his throat. “I believe a little toast is in order, after which I’d be honored to have you at my table for supper. I’ve asked the cook to see if he can’t scratch up something besides stew for the occasion. ”