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Even Tatia approved of inviting Mr. Santayna to see her boatworks.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" he exclaimed at the sight of the sprawling buildings which housed one of the most prosperous boatyards in Massachusetts. "The Bayliss Boatworks?"
From his amazement, Zenaide wondered whether he had expected her to show him tiny buildings made of papier-mâché. Some people, she knew, thought she wasn't quite right in the head. But his response to the invitation she'd sent had been polite, and written in a neat hand.
"Bayliss was my maiden name," she explained happily. Tatia paid the taxi which had brought them. They'd run two advertisements for a chauffeur, but none of the men who applied had looked respectable. "See the slope there? That's where they lower the new boats into the water. Isn't it grand?"
She had searched her brain for an outing he might enjoy half as much as she had enjoyed her trip to Salem Willows. She was certain now that she had found it.
"When Mr. Cole was alive, I seldom came here. He said it wasn't fitting, because it was dirty and some of the language was coarse and besides I'd only plague him with questions afterwards. Now I come once or twice a year." Zenaide bobbed her head with a confidence that had flowered in her in recent weeks. "That's reasonable, don't you think?"
It was lovely to have someone who'd listen to her talk about the boatworks. The place intrigued her. Its mid-sized vessels hauled freight and passengers everywhere along the coast. Its smaller pleasure craft were favored by residents of Beverly and Boston and Long Island. From the day she'd first visited it as a bride, she'd wanted to learn more about its workings.
The manager was a florid man, able to rattle off facts and figures. He came to the house three times a year to make reports, but it put him out of sorts when she asked questions. Like her father, telling her she didn't need to know things, and her husband, who often called her stupid.
She wasn't stupid. And she didn't like the manager. She hadn't bothered to tell him she intended to visit.
He nearly tripped over himself in his rush to greet her. He gave them a tour when she asked. She and Tatia and Mr. Santayna walked through barnlike buildings where boats were taking shape on ramps. The air smelled of tar, sweat and wood shavings. When she asked if Mr. Santayna would like to climb up the scaffolding for a closer look, he accepted eagerly. He watched with particular interest the fitting of engines into the pleasure craft.
"I never expected to get a look at something like this," he said with feeling when they had finished.
Zenaide beamed with the certainty he had enjoyed her treat.
They stopped for tea on the way back. Mr. Santayna said she and Tatia looked as though summer weather must agree with them.
"We've been helping on a War Orphans Committee," Zenaide said with pride. "Almost every Tuesday. It's... energizing."
"Only two of them read French even passably," Tatia burst out with unexpected enthusiasm. "Madame is the only one truly fluent."
Zenaide blushed at the compliment. When someone she didn't know from church had called and asked her to help, she almost had declined. But it was the morning after she'd ridden the Flying Horses and she'd felt extraordinarily brave. She'd agreed to attend one meeting. It had turned out to be rather interesting, even to Tatia.
They ate fussy little sandwiches and strawberry tarts and Mr. Santayna was nicer company even than their young lawyer. There was something which had been puzzling Zenaide. She decided to ask.
"You're clever, Mr. Santayna. Tell me why my boatworks isn't as profitable as it used to be. I oughtn't complain, but it does puzzle me why the sales aren't as high as they were before the last war."
Mr. Santayna swallowed some tea. He was wondering whether he ought to respond. She waited.
"Mrs. Cole, I know nothing about how a factory runs, nor selling, nor much about business at all except I can do a balance sheet," he said at last. "I do know boats, though, and engines, and if I were buying one of those pleasure craft, I'd want a more powerful engine than what you're using. They're okay if you don't push them, but I expect most of the people who buy your boats are after speed as well as looks."
She turned the thought over for several moments. "I believe pleasure craft were where sales were off the most last year. And there were returns. One or two aren't unusual, but last year there were more. I asked my manager about it. He said people are getting more fickle."
Adding milk to her tea she stirred it thoughtfully. The boatworks was hers. She should get better answers to her questions. Surely managers were easier to find than a chauffeur.
***
The white bandstand floated on the June night like clouds on the stars. Reverberating brass reminiscent of the Flying Horses filled Kate's head as she walked tensely toward the shadowy perimeter of the Common. Joe had told her once he always brought his aunties to hear the band. She hoped he still did. She hoped the message she'd sent by Billy had reached him.
"Kate?"
Her shoulders relaxed as he stepped from the shadows.
"I've got to make another trip north. This month. I can't wait until July," she said in a rush. Without quite intending to she poured out all the details of Rosalie's arrest.
"Mother of God." He stared at her. "Kate, there's no need for a trip when it's still risky. I've got plenty in the bank, all thanks to you. Let me lend you the money."
Her head already was shaking.
"Why not? Because you can't borrow from hired help?"
"You know that's not how it is! But no telling how long the money would be tied up if there's a trial. You've risked your neck for that money. It's your security, and your family's, if something happens to you and you can't work, or someone gets sick, or gets in a jam where they need a lawyer — because you damn well won't get any justice if you don't have money!"
The more she spoke, the more passionate her words. Joe studied her for a moment.
"You've learned plenty about my world, haven't you?"
"Not half as much as I've learned about my own."
"If I don't do it, you'll make the trip with someone else."
"I'll have no choice."
The happy music and the loveliness of the spring night were cruel. A ragtime song had ended. As the applause died she could hear nearby the kiss-softened laughter of lovers. The moon slipped free of a cloud. Spring peepers chorused. Joe should have spoken again, but he stood motionless as granite.
"Joe? What is it?"
"You. How your face looks when you're determined. So...."
Kate felt her breathing slow. Inevitable as shifting tides, his head dipped toward hers. His kiss was soft, lingering. She put a hand to his shirt to steady herself. He stepped back abruptly.
"Kate, I apologize."
"It's — all right. Truly."
Blood was thundering in her ears. She felt unsteady.
"I don't know what got into me. It's... the way you look sometimes."
He had probably kissed hundreds of girls. It meant nothing. Nothing at all. He ran a hand through his tangle of curls though there was no need.
"I need to get back to my aunts. If you still want me to make the trip with you...."
"Yes. I do." Her legs were untrustworthy.
"I'll let Billy know when. And we'd better plan on an extra day. We'll have to go slower watching for ice."
***
The Santayna men were leaving the pier, their day's catch sold, when Joe noticed the big car at the end of the street. A black chauffeur opened the door and a man on crutches struggled out. One leg of his pants was pinned up at the knee.
"Go ahead. I nearly forgot I needed to make a stop," Joe said to the others.
He walked without enthusiasm toward Kate's cousin. Joe had sat with him almost nightly the first week after his surgery. Then one night he'd arrived and Theo was gone. As much as the other man had welcomed his company, Joe knew he'd been embarrassed by that need. Joe had never expected he and Theo would become fast friends, but he did think the man might have had the courtesy to let him know he was leaving the hospital.
"I won't offer a hand," said Theo in greeting. He wobbled a few steps. He looked healthier. "I came to say thank you." His gaze wavered. "I should have said it before I was discharged."
Joe nodded, recognizing the apology.
"Looks like you're getting around okay." He figured it took guts to get around like that at all.
Pride at the compliment shone in Theo's face. "They only released me three days ago. It's my first time out of the house." He groped awkwardly for further conversation. "Once I have an artificial limb, they say I'll get by with a cane. Maybe even without."
Another void loomed. Joe grew conscious of the stink of fish on his clothes. Theo's nostrils pinched involuntarily.
"I know how you've helped Kate," her cousin said. "The risks you've taken."
"It's a damn shame she's got to do what she's doing."
"Are you in love with her?"
The question caught Joe unawares. He'd blundered plenty kissing Kate, but had she told Theo?
"I'm not a complete fool." His jaw was stiff.
Theo half smiled. "I doubt you're any sort of fool at all. It's just that—" He broke off with a look that lingered on Joe and a shake of his head. "I'd no business asking."
***
The prospect of leaving her family alone while she made the trip north worried Kate. Last year she hadn't given it a second thought. But last year she hadn't known what she did now about Felix Garvey.
"A man who gives women black eyes and almost kills a helpless cripple wouldn't let Aggie go without a word," she brooded to King Tut. His head was on her knee and she stroked it as they watched the dawn from the top of the beach stairs.
Thoughts of Felix watching and waiting and planning revenge kept knotting her stomach. Within minutes now she'd depart on her last rum run, and Aggie and the others would be alone. She felt infinitely older than she had just a year ago when she first braved the tides of Fundy to feed the tide of illegal booze. The big black dog leaned against her offering comfort. Surely with King Tut here, everyone would be perfectly safe in her absence.
The small boat carrying Joe and the others appeared. A sliver of orange appeared, melting into the first yellow edge of the sun. As they raised sail, Earth's star paved a golden path across the water.
"You okay?" Joe asked at mid-day. "You've been awfully quiet."
Kate nodded.
Today was the day the rest of her class was graduating.
He'd watched her all morning, she realized now, his manner restrained. She wondered if it had anything to do with the kiss. True, it had made some of her old shyness return in his presence, but only because she couldn't forget it the way she had other occasional kisses she had experienced.
"Did your cousin ever make her peace with school?" she asked to restore things to normal. "I've forgotten to ask."
"Brought home three A's and three B's and was chosen to recite a poem at a program they had the last day of classes. Just had her first dance recital. You should have seen my uncles sitting there in their Sunday best."
She tried unsuccessfully to hold the merriment which escaped her. Joe chuckled too, then grew serious.
"You've changed our lives," he said, his eyes as blue as the ocean.
Kate blushed, more aware of his nearness than she wanted to be. Billy, seated on a furled sail, blew his nose. They both looked around.
"He must have a cold," Kate said. "I heard him sneeze earlier."
"He'll be lucky if that's all he has, the girl he's been keeping company with."
The next day they spotted their first ice, a yellowed chunk the size of a Victrola. By the time they reached Saint John they had seen two pieces half the size of the Folly itself. Kate's science training made her aware that what she could see of each piece above the water was but a fraction of the mass below. The need for caution slowed them considerably. So far the ice had been on the ocean side and at a safe distance, but striking a piece would shatter the Folly into toothpicks.
Demand for liquor was high at the bonded warehouses, but after the wait the loading went smoothly. Kate worried, though, that Billy was starting to cough. When Joe returned from the brief stop he always made at a dockside tavern to pick up last minute news of traffic and weather, he likewise looked troubled.
"A couple of the old-timers say there's a storm coming that'll be hellish." He scratched the stubble covering his face and squinted at distant clouds. "If we wait it out here, it could be twelve hours or better before it hits, and maybe another day before we get out. Or they could be wrong. If we head out now, and it comes up fast, we could take a pounding. What do you think?"
She considered. "I don't have anything near your experience with the sea, Joe."
He frowned toward the mouth of the harbor and the Three Sisters. "Yeah, I know. And right now I'm wishing I had half the judgment about these things as my uncles." He settled his cap on his head with decision. "I don't like the way Billy's sounding. I'd just as soon not get stuck here. Let's get clear of Fundy. Without those currents to fight, we can manage."
Recognizing her tension, he touched her shoulder lightly. The sharpened alertness left his eyes for a moment and they smiled at her. "Try not to worry about it. There are good coves we can put up in if need be, and a time or two back the captain from another boat told me about a couple of caves where rummers can hole up."
His shortage of conversation and the way he pushed the engine for the next four hours communicated his tension. The brewing storm was likely heightening his sense of limited experience in navigating Fundy waters. He relaxed visibly when they finally passed North Head lighthouse marking the start of the Grand Manan Channel and, on one side, the U.S. border.
The sea grew choppy on Kate's watch that night and remained so throughout the following day. Clovis was slicing potatoes for supper when the storm swept down on them. One minute Joe pointed uneasily at clouds in the distance. The next, it seemed, rain sawed down in torrents.
Kate was half soaked by the time she got her oilskins over her. Joe ignored his, wrestling the wheel as whitecaps appeared. A gust of wind nearly lifted Kate off her feet. A wave broke over the side of the Folly.
"Tell Billy to stay below," Joe ordered sharply.
She slipped on the water-slick deck as she went to comply. Billy had managed nearly a full shift while Clovis slept, but now he was so groggy with fever he merely raised his head listlessly as she relayed instructions. Even belowdecks she could feel the boat pitching wildly. Emerging above she saw another wave break, this one towering over the bow of the boat. She caught a lifeline and held as the water smacked over them.
"Keep a tight grip on something, both of you," Joe shouted. He was in his slicker now, his shape at times obscured by the rain. She wondered if his orders to Billy had been based on the boy's illness or fear of losing him overboard. "There's a cove about four miles ahead," Joe encouraged, his words snatched by the wind. "We'll put in there."
Four miles. Fifteen minutes. Twenty. Too far. The Folly heeled halfway over and hung suspended for an eternity. Kate gagged on fear. At the front of the boat she could see Clovis on his knees, braced against furled sail and clutching a tight-wrapped halyard with both hands. She wanted to call to him, to reassure, but no words came.
With agonizing slowness the Folly righted itself. It bounced from wave to wave, whether at the mercy of the storm or steered by Joe, she couldn't tell. Another swell caught it, tipping the deck until she could no longer stand and was forced to her knees like Clovis.
"She won't go over!" Joe yelled hoarsely. "She's got fine balance!"
But Kate wondered if he believed it, and a moment later she saw his head bow as if he were willing the vessel beneath them to right itself. Or maybe he was praying. She thought of the cross and small medal he wore on a chain at his neck.
Again the schooner returned to level and lurched ahead. To starboard she could just make out the smudge of shoreline. Then it started to vanish. She felt an even more vicious assault by the waves as, with wind abeam, Joe struggled to set course toward the spot where the shore disappeared. It was either the cove he sought, Kate thought with hammering heart, or he was putting to land in desperation — the chances of running aground in unknown waters less daunting than the prospect of going down at sea.