The Sister Wife Read online

  “Knowing you as I do, I can say with full confidence the ‘anyone else’ of whom you speak will join us for supper tomorrow,” the captain said as they entered the dining room. “Tonight is for private conversation, the topic I mentioned earlier.”

  Gabe chuckled. “Your powers of observation never cease to amaze me, even after all these years.”

  Hosea gave him a sly smile. “I’ve known you long enough to read your face like an open book. ’Tis no secret you’re hoping to soon catch another glimpse of Lady Ashley.”

  Gabe laughed. “Now, what would make you think I have any interest in Lady Ashley?”

  Mr. Quigley pulled out the captain’s chair at the end of the table and Hosea sat down, and then the steward attended to seating Gabe.

  Hosea’s eyes crinkled as he unfolded his napkin and tucked it under his chin. “Could it possibly be the way you two looked at each other this morning? You looked as though you’d been struck by lightning.”

  Before Gabe could respond, Hosea added, “Let’s ask the Lord’s blessing on this food and on our voyage.”

  After the captain’s prayer, the steward sliced pieces off a boiled beef shoulder flavored with garlic and black peppercorns, put them on each man’s plate, and then scooped up potatoes from the same tureen and placed them near the beef, adding Yorkshire pudding and covering it all with beef broth. Goblets of Madeira had already been poured and caught the light of the single oil lamp, which swung over the table with each rise and fall of the ship’s movement. Hosea lifted his glass to salute the voyage, and Gabe clinked his against the captain’s.

  “’Tis an honor, sir,” Gabe said, raising his wine again toward Hosea’s. Gabe was honored to eat with his friend this night. Traditionally, dignitaries were invited on the first night out because fresh food could only last so long in the galley hold. After a few days, the fare turned to only those things that had been pickled or salted and kept in airtight barrels.

  The captain read his mind and chuckled. “I can dare to break etiquette with this group of passengers, but had Cunard’s name been in the manifest, ’twould be he, not you, my friend, sitting beside me tonight.”

  “And he would have been had it not been for his daughter’s illness.”

  “Yes,” Hosea said, “and I understand it’s serious.”

  “And unexpected, though he’s hoping for a quick recovery. He plans to bring her aboard our sister ship for her maiden voyage next month, if the girl is well.” He grinned. “Told me himself, though half in jest, that he plans not only to beat our record but that which was set last summer by the Annie McKim.”

  Hosea laughed. “I doubt there was an ounce of jest in his challenge—especially toward the Sea Hawk. That alone gives me reason to batten down the hatches and fly across the Atlantic.” He glanced toward the steward, standing near the table. “Mr. Quigley, that will be all for tonight. Thank you.”

  Mr. Quigley inclined his head slightly toward the captain, and then took his leave.

  The captain looked thoughtful as he took another bite of roast beef. After he’d finished chewing and lifted the Madeira to his lips, he leaned back in his chair. The glow from the overhead lantern made his face appear gaunt and lined with worry. “I am concerned about my wife, Gabe. I need your advice, your help.”

  “Anything, sir. You know how I feel about you both.”

  Gabe and the captain’s wife, Enid, had been the dearest of friends since childhood. Both families had migrated from Scotland years before, along with most of the settlers who made up New Scotland, or Nova Scotia, as it was now called. Gabe and Enid became even closer when Gabe’s mother, father, and younger sister died at sea. He’d watched them sail from the Halifax harbor not realizing it would be his last glimpse of the family he loved. He later learned that the packet ship proved unseaworthy and could not make it through the mildest of Atlantic storms. All on board had been lost at sea. When the news reached him, grief hit hard.

  He’d stayed with Enid’s family during the dark days of his grieving, and it was there, during long conversations with Enid, that his passion began to grow to design and build fast, unsinkable ships. Though she encouraged him to pursue his dream, her eyes spoke otherwise. He knew she wanted him to stay on the island so they could be together.

  “In Enid’s last letter,” the captain said, “she spoke of notions that worry me.”

  “How so?”

  “I’ve always known of her desire to help the helpless, whether human or animal. But lately she has convinced herself she has special abilities to heal animals, whether wild or domestic.

  “She’s begun correspondence with a man in the new field of veterinary medicine in Glasgow. He encourages her in this undertaking, perhaps too much in my opinion. He sent her materials to study, and has written a book on the subject that will soon be published.” He sat back and steepled his fingers. “Gabe, this is no lady’s profession. She has no need to tell me how she gets down in the muck and turns breech foals with her bare arm inside the mare. I can well imagine it without her words describing these procedures in detail.”

  Gabe remembered how, when Enid was a child, she found a fawn in the forest, lost and starving. She slipped it into her house without telling anyone in the family, fed it goat’s milk, and cuddled it at night in her bed because the little thing was shivering with cold.

  “I consulted with a doctor in London who told me Enid is likely suffering from a form of melancholia, probably because of her inability to conceive. It’s his theory that she is trying to make up for the pain of deep loss she feels inside by taking care of an animal’s pain. He referred me to another physician who treats barren women. I talked with him when I was in London and he’s willing to examine Enid.”

  “Does Enid know you’ve done this?”

  “I wrote to her last month. The letter went out on a schooner that sailed soon after with a stop in Halifax. She should receive it in time to meet us when we anchor there.”

  Gabe drew in a deep breath, again remembering Enid when she was a girl: skirts hiked above her knees, feet bare, flame-colored hair blowing wild in the wind as she rode her filly Foxfire bareback along the beach when the tide was out. Her laughter was like music, her shouts joyful as she let go of the horse’s mane and reached to the skies, fingers splayed, urging the filly to go faster and faster as she dug into her flanks with her heels. It was no surprise that she cared for horses, or any other ailing or injured animals. The surprise was that Hosea didn’t know this about her.

  “I suspect you loved her once.”

  The comment brought Gabe out of his reverie. He hadn’t realized Hosea was studying his face, or that his thoughts might be so transparent. “We were friends and schoolmates, confidants and explorers of the island’s wild coasts and forests. Love, yes. But not romantic love, if that’s what you mean.” Though even as he spoke he remembered how, as they grew older, he began to notice how her dark eyes sparkled when she saw him, the wild strawberry hue of her lips, and the way her mouth curved up impishly at the corners just before she laughed. He thought her invincible: If she’d wanted to swing from the moon, she’d have found a way.

  And then there was that night just after his parents died when his need seemed too great, and Enid’s love for him too dear, her heart too willing to try to make his pain go away. One night in the forest on a bed of moss their emotions overtook their senses. It never happened again; they never spoke of it.

  But that was long ago and far away, a time and feeling best forgotten.

  The captain offered another helping of beef to Gabe, and then reached for another for himself. He cut his meat, seemingly lost in thoughts of his own.

  After a moment he continued. “I want her to see this specialist. I’m losing her to other pursuits and worry that she no longer cares to be mother of our children as we’d always dreamed.” He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and then wiped his mouth with his napkin. “This physician told me it’s well documented that women who have outside i
nterests, who are educated, have a more difficult time conceiving. I don’t know if I believe him—or the experts who’ve documented such a connection between education and childbearing. Rubs against the grain somehow. But there are treatments for barrenness, and that’s what holds promise for Enid. I know as a fact how she yearns for children. She’s nearing thirty, and it won’t be long until it’s too late to reverse her barren state. I’m hoping she’ll agree.”

  For a fleeting moment, the image of Enid came back to Gabe, the bareback ride across the still wet sand, the lapping of waves in the background, the shouts and laughter as she galloped. It always seemed to him that though her body tried to grow big enough to hold her wild spirit, and though her limbs grew long and lanky and she had a look of power and grace and raw-boned strength about her, her frame could never keep up with her spirit.

  “I want you to convince her to come to London for treatment.”

  Gabe’s eyes widened and he almost choked. He grabbed the goblet of Madeira and took a hefty swallow. “Me, sir?” He laughed lightly. “That will be about as easy as convincing the moon to change its orbit.”

  The captain chuckled. “Even so, my friend, promise me you’ll try.”

  Gabe sat back, studying the captain. “You know I would do anything for you, either of you. But isn’t this a private matter? Truly, I should not be involved, sir.” Gabe sipped his Madeira again, this time more slowly. He was not one who took pleasure from drink, but aboard ship, water was a precious commodity and, after a few days out, could turn brackish and cause serious illness. “’Tis you, sir, who need to talk with her.” He put his goblet on the table, watching the glittering reflection of lamplight in the deep red wine.

  “Sometimes when I speak to her, she seems lost in another world. It’s as if she doesn’t want to listen to what I have to say, no matter its import. Enid looks up to you…you’re like a brother to her. She’ll listen to you.”

  “With all due respect, maybe you need to listen instead of speak, sir, let her pour out her heart to you.”

  The captain was silent for a moment, sighed deeply, then said, “I’ve tried to do that, but it’s the one subject she keeps hidden.” He smiled, suddenly, and lifted his glass. “Besides, you have no choice in the matter.”

  “Because it’s a direct order, sir?”

  The captain laughed. “Nothing like that. In my wife’s letter, I wrote that you have something to ask and will meet her outside St. Paul’s on the afternoon we drop anchor in Halifax.”

  “How did you know I would agree?”

  The ship rose on a swell then dipped down violently. Both men instinctively grabbed their goblets. The lamp above them swung, dimmed, then brightened again.

  “I’ve always known that you would do anything for your childhood friend, even this.” He lifted his goblet. “To my sweet Enid and to the two men who love her.”

  FIVE

  When Mary Rose woke the next morning she was surprised to find the children gone. Their bedclothes were neatly pulled tight, small pillows on top and covered with brightly quilted counterpanes she hadn’t seen before. Bronwyn had probably sewn them the same day she made the twins’ knickers and brightly colored pinafore tops. It seemed there was nothing beyond this woman’s capabilities. Surprisingly, the only stab of jealousy Mary Rose felt was one of wishful thinking: She wondered how it would be to think of others with such consideration.

  She spotted a note on the stand near her water pitcher. Steadying herself against the movement of the ship, she made her way to it and unfolded the paper.

  M’lady,

  I have taken the children on a nautical adventure before breakfast, which is at seven bells. I have also spoken to Mr. Quigley, the steward, about preparing your bath before breakfast bells, as you requested. I will return with the children to help you dress for the day.

  The steward has asked if you prefer taking your morning meal in your cabin or with the officers. He also asked if you would prefer your morning tea before or after your bath.

  Yours truly,

  Bronwyn Carey

  As Mary Rose slipped into her lacy dressing gown, she wondered why she was surprised at Bronwyn’s obvious intelligence, literacy, and elegant penmanship. Just because she wasn’t from the British aristocracy didn’t mean she couldn’t read or write or know details about poetry, such as the poem by Blake that Mary Rose had never learned.

  A light tap at the door broke into her thoughts. She crossed the small room and drew it open. Mr. Quigley inclined his head slightly. “Lady Ashley, I have two seamen with me who will prepare your bath.”

  Mary Rose stepped aside, and let them enter. “Thank you.” Never before had anyone brought a bathtub to her, but here it was, claw feet and all. The men set it in the corner of the square room, nodded to the steward, left for a few minutes, then returned with buckets of steaming water and a stack of Turkish towels.

  “Will that be all, m’lady?” Mr. Quigley said when they had finished pouring the water into the tub. He wore a rather odd expression, she thought, as she indicated that it was a lovely bath and that she was grateful.

  Then she said, “I would so appreciate a cup of tea, if you wouldn’t mind. Cream and sugar with it also.”

  He bowed. “Yes, m’lady…before your bath?”

  “Yes, please.”

  As he walked away she thought she heard him muttering about a scarcity of water aboard, but his back was to her and she couldn’t be sure. Scarcity or not, a woman needed her bath. She might be willing to give up the manor house, cut back on the expenses needed for her wardrobe, but one thing she was unwilling to sacrifice was a bubbly soak after a dusty two-day carriage ride with squirming hot little bodies that smelled like wet puppy dogs.

  She relished her soak in the fragrant water, congratulating herself that she’d remembered to bring a box of French-milled soap that smelled of lilies. She closed her eyes in pure pleasure and let her hair slip beneath the water, working it into a mass of suds then letting it fan out. Maybe life aboard ship wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

  It was with great reluctance she stepped out of the tub, wrapped herself with one Turkish towel, and dried her hair with another. She’d just finished pulling on her morning dress when another soft knock sounded at the door. Before she could open it, however, the twins raced in, all smiles, until they saw the bathtub. They were carrying a small wooden bucket between them.

  “I don’t need a bath,” Pearl said, her eyes wide with vexation. “I had one last week.”

  Ruby let go of her side of the bucket and tried to hide behind Bronwyn. Mary Rose could see the merriment in Bronwyn’s eyes as a strange odor filled the room, obliterating the fragrance of lilies. Fish. The children smelled like fish. And their playclothes were damp and smeared with something resembling spoiled spinach. Seaweed? Fish entrails? They looked more like ragamuffins than children related to the Earl of Salisbury.

  Bronwyn laughed, acting as if they looked exactly as children should look. “Show Lady Ashley your treasure, lambs,” she said.

  Ruby reluctantly came out from hiding and took hold of her side of the bucket again. Together, they struggled to get it closer to the light that poured through the square trap in the ceiling. They set the bucket down and then sat on the wood plank floor to examine their treasure.

  “Mithter Thorne thaid we could bring thith to show you,” Ruby said, her eyes big. “We were on the poop deck when thome men were fithing for the people on our boat.” She bent over her bucket and pulled out an orange creature the size of both Mary Rose’s fists. It appeared to be a very large bug with feelers that waved in the air.

  Mary Rose put her hand to her throat and took a step backward. “What is it?”

  “It’s a baby lobster,” Pearl said, her voice filled with awe. “The fishermen said it’s too little to keep so we have to throw it back in the water. We wanted to show it to you first.” She took it from her sister’s hand and held it out for Mary Rose to hold.

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bsp; “And Mithter Thorpe thaid itth a miracle. Lobtherth live on the bottom, but we think thith one ran away from itth mommy.”

  “Or maybe its mommy didn’t want it anymore,” Pearl said, “so it just swam to the top of the ocean looking for another family.”

  The sting of tears at the back of Mary Rose’s throat began even before she considered the smell, her still sore hands, or the eyes on the wiggling creature that seemed to be staring at her. Pearl’s words still echoed in her heart as she took in their expectant faces.

  Big orange bug or not, she wouldn’t disappoint them. She knelt down between them and held her breath as she opened her hands.

  “But Lady,” Ruby whispered, “you have a hurt on your hand.”

  Pearl bent lower to see for herself. “Two big hurts,” she said.

  “It might make it hurt worth if you hold Othcar,” Ruby said, her eyes large and fixed on Mary Rose’s face.

  “I’m quite certain this little lobster won’t hurt my hands,” Mary Rose said, swallowing hard. She met Bronwyn’s gaze above the girls’ head. Even in the dim light, her eyes appeared watery. Mary Rose wondered if it was the shared experience, each seeming to know what the other thought, that made them exchange soft smiles.

  She cupped her hands as Ruby carefully placed the baby lobster in her palms. She lifted the creature toward her face. “Hello, Oscar the Lobster,” Mary Rose said in her best lobster voice.

  Her words were met by gales of laughter, Bronwyn’s giggle almost as loud as the twins’.

  “Othcar the Lobthter,” Ruby sang out and danced around the room. Her twin joined, and after Mary Rose gave the crustacean to Pearl, she gently danced poor Oscar along in both hands.

  Mary Rose sat back, considering the scene. A half hour earlier, the sweet bouquet of lilies seemed to her the most precious in the world. Now? She took in the children’s laughter, thought about Oscar running away from a mommy who didn’t want him, and decided fishy lobster had just replaced lilies as the most beautiful aroma on earth.