Authors: M. Ruth Myers
He wrapped rope around the form in the blanket as he spoke and lowered it as carefully as one man could. That done, he began to move crablike up the slanting deck toward the cabin.
"Daryl! She's starting to heel!" Joe warned.
"Gone to get the log, sir," the sailor in the rowboat called in a tight voice.
An instant later Daryl reappeared with a leather ledger. He slid down a rope into the waiting boat. They were barely clear when the Coast Guard vessel rolled onto its side. Eager hands on the
Folly
lowered a canvas sling to bring up the man in the blanket. The other two Guardsmen climbed a rope ladder. They stood getting their bearings while Joe made certain Clovis and Billy had recaptured the stern boat and could get it on board.
Daryl and the seaman with him were damp from the splash when their ticket boat rolled. One arm of Daryl's uniform was torn, with blood around it.
"That bad?" Joe asked.
Daryl shook his head. "Mary's going to pin my ears back for ruining another uniform, though." He attempted a smile, but he was white around the lips.
"The man in the blanket...?" Kate's voice wavered.
Joe knew she was nervous. They all were, wondering if they'd land in jail now.
"Our chief petty officer, Miss. He, uh, he lost an ear. He passed out."
"Put him in one of the bunks in — in the crew cabin," Kate faltered.
Normally she kept her traveling kit stowed neatly. Joe hoped to God she hadn't left anything in view to give away the fact all four of them were sharing a single cabin.
Daryl was just managing not to stare at Kate with her spun gold hair and innate air of refinement.
"Miss Hinshaw, this is Petty Officer Second Class Daryl Connelly," Joe said. "Miss Hinshaw owns this boat. We've been up to Bar Harbor."
Daryl saluted. "You saved our lives. No telling when another vessel might have passed."
"We must've tangled with the same bunch," Joe said. "Big speedboat came at us a little ways back. Shot us up pretty bad." He indicated splintered wood.
"Jesus. I guess so!"
With luck Daryl would conclude that was why they'd been running dark, but as soon as he'd gathered his wits some, he'd start to ask questions.
"Miss Hinshaw, I can't believe we'll have any more mishaps tonight," Joe said formally. "Why don't you get some rest?"
She caught his cue and gave a polite smile. "It's too musty below from the rain. I believe I'll just sit on the deck. Do ask Mr. Santayna if you need anything, Officer Connelly."
Daryl shook his head in awe as she moved fore. "I heard you worked for a rich girl sometimes, but I never pictured a setup like this." He had assumed a stiff 'at ease' position, hands clasped behind him. His face showed strain.
"We're outside the three-mile limit," Joe ventured. "And I don't mind telling you we all just had a drink of whiskey. You look like you could use some. Take the wheel a minute."
Daryl didn't object. He sipped gratefully at the liquor, standing silently next to Joe at the wheel and watching ahead with alertness bred by years on the water.
"Jesus, Joe," he said at last. "You saw this kind of thing in the war, I guess. I hadn't. The chief dropping like a sack of flour. Blood all over him—"
"Ears bleed worse than other parts."
"Oh." Daryl drained the last of the whiskey. "Standing out there, going down, all I could think was how hard it was going to be on Mary, bringing up a baby on her own. It nearly killed me."
It was tension washing out that made him speak so freely. That and the fact they'd known each other a long time; been friends even if they weren't particularly close ones.
"I sank the bastards," Joe said staring ahead. "They had us pinned down. No telling what they'd do. I hit their gas tank."
"Bother you?"
"Yeah. Some. Had to be done."
"If it's the same boat attacked us, you ought to get some kind of medal. Fellow in charge was a hooligan named Garvey. Works for a local outfit. They've made a few million running rum and now they're selling protection too, roughing up rum boats unless they pay two dollars a case. A couple of New York gangsters have set up shop too, so they're starting to shoot at each other. And at us. Like I say, you did a public service."
Clovis reported the wound to the Coast Guard chief didn't look life threatening. Based on his assessment, Daryl declined Joe's offer to put in at Gloucester. Making the report he'd have to make would be less complicated at Salem where he was known, he said. As he relaxed, his attention shifted from the ocean ahead to the deck of the
Folly
and settled on Kate.
"Mighty odd, a girl like her setting off alone with three men."
Joe wondered if he heard suspicion.
"She's independent," he answered easily. "Likes to get away from her family. Go up the coast, look at birds and such."
Daryl slid him a sideways glance.
"You're riding pretty low in the water, Joe."
Joe had guessed this moment might come. "Lots of books."
"Books." Daryl sounded less than convinced.
"Miss Hinshaw's well educated. Father was a lawyer. A friend up near Bar Harbor died and left her his library. Collector's stuff. Take the wheel a minute. I'll show you something."
He was gone before Daryl could protest. He wasn't sure whether Daryl would feel compelled to arrest them if he knew what their real cargo was. No need making him wrestle his conscience, though. Or spending the night in jail, if Joe could avoid it. Opening the saloon door just enough to admit his arm, he reached for the book he'd spotted their second voyage out and moved to the end of a shelf for such an occasion. With the door barely open and no light, even someone a few feet away wasn't likely to see the crates of booze stacked where the Hinshaw family had once sat playing cards or reading, crates kin to those which filled every room below deck except the head and the galley and the cabin where the wounded Coast Guardsman lay.
"Take a look," he said thrusting the book at Daryl.
"
Great Expectations
. We read it our junior year, didn't we?" Daryl wasn't enthusiastic.
"Yeah, but look." Joe flipped to the page opposite the title page and pointed. "A first edition. Means it's worth a bundle. So are some French ones she's found, and those are just the first boxes."
Daryl shook his head, chuckling now. "Some people have more money than sense, I guess."
Joe grinned. In school Daryl had always lagged at Roman numerals. Neither he nor anyone else who stopped them at sea was likely to know what year Dickens' story had first appeared anyway. He returned the book and he and Daryl talked lazily the rest of the way into Salem. Daryl might suspect their cargo contained more than books, but given a plausible story and the fact he owed them his life, he wasn't likely to press the issue.
A frenzy engulfed them the instant they docked. Word of the attack spread quickly even though it was one in the morning. The wounded chief petty officer was lifted ashore. Daryl shouted to the harbor-master to summon the Coast Guard watch officer. Steady and level-headed, he took charge of a situation which Joe knew must be totally foreign to him.
"Will you need us?" Joe asked, fighting tension with so many eyes on the
Folly
. Two policemen were clearing the way for an ambulance, and here sat a vessel with a thousand cases of Corby's in her hold.
"Not tonight. They might want a statement tomorrow, but I know how to reach you." As they shook hands, his eyes met Joe's and held for an instant. "Joe... be careful."
Joe nodded. He wondered if it was a warning. With relief he saw a decrepit car with a crooked headlight turn in at the head of the wharf. It was the same car he'd used to take Kate to his aunties the night she was shot. He stepped from the dock to the deck of the
Folly
and went toward her quickly.
"Kate, see that car? There's a friend of mine driving. I had Billy find him and tell him you needed a lift because you'd twisted your ankle. Get going now, so I can cast off before someone takes too close a look at us."
"But—"
"We'll argue later. Humor me on this. I'd rather be hanged than to see you arrested."
Billy arrived, out of breath, and gave an excited nod.
"Go on now." Joe caught her hands and gave them a quick squeeze. "We'll land where we ought to tomorrow night and I'll be to see you the next day."
Forty
Twenty-seven hours later, with the cargo of liquor safely delivered, Joe fell face down on his attic bed at four in the morning. He slept without moving for almost ten hours. When he finally stirred, it was to a stiff neck and a single thought, bright as a comet blazing across a night sky:
Kate
.
He had wakened to her image before, but never with such happiness. Never with the knowledge she was his.
Restored by sleep and a day of thinking, he knew his initial worries about whether she would marry him had been ridiculous. Their coming together in the cave had been no more a whim for her than it had for him. Whatever the complications, they would have a future together. He could buy her a house, though it wouldn't be grand. He would find a respectable job — throw himself on the mercy of his aunties and Father Anthony or even Mrs. Cole. No matter what the Church taught, they'd make damned sure there were no babies until they had their feet under them and he'd proved to her family he could take care of her.
He said a quick prayer that their night together hadn't left a baby in the making. If there was sin to be atoned for, let it fall on him instead of Kate.
With energy rushing into him, he went downstairs. As he shaved and dried his face he could hear Vic's voice in the front room. He felt foolish just getting up this time of day, but his high spirits kept him from caring. When he joined his relatives, a greeting on his lips, he was startled to find Irene crying.
"Look. Look what he's brought me," she said. Her hand stroked a couch of rich forest green that stood in front of the threadbare one he'd known all his life. Joe realized the tears slipping down her cheeks were ones of happiness.
"Saw it in a second-hand place coming home," Vic said gruffly. "Good price, and it's not like we needed the money put back for rent now."
Irene wiped her tears and in a display seldom seen, hugged her husband. In a flash Joe remembered seeing them hug once when he and his father had first come to live with them. Irene had been young and as pretty as Rose was now. He'd forgotten.