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Though the silence between them persisted, it had changed now. It was compassionate silence, the muteness of people who knew they had hurt each other and that it couldn't be put right. The few words they spoke took care not to wound further.
Night fell, and a bare hour later they slid past the tiny islands known as Ma and Pa Baker into home waters. Kate held her breath. They were inside the three-mile limit now, a shadow gliding under moonless skies, but as vulnerable as a fish swimming into a net if spotted. The Folly slid into its home dock. Billy jumped out to tie up. All identifying traces of them had been removed. Kate wedged the receipt with her uncle's name on it between two cases of liquor where it couldn't be missed. She joined the others on the dock, the last to step ashore.
And then Mrs. Cole lost her nerve.
"Kate dear, you really don't need me," she said. "I believe I'll just go on home."
It was perhaps the single thing Kate hadn't anticipated.
"Mrs. Cole, I can't possibly bring this off without you! We need to make an entrance. And — and you're my alibi!"
"I'll still be your alibi, but I've never been good at parties. I'll forget everything I'm supposed to say."
There wasn't time to argue. Soon the police might start to arrive, getting into position to nab rum-runners they expected to land two hours hence. Kate had tailored her return to the house to include Mrs. Cole. It was too late to improvise now. She'd never sound as credible as she needed to sound.
"Joe, come up to the house with us. Please!" she said desperately.
These last few hours he'd studied her from time to time as if to find the answer to some puzzle that eluded him, but now he shook his head. His shoulders had a downcast slump and his voice was weary. "I've done... what I had to do, I guess. Don't ask more of me."
"I know I've no right to ask it, but — Mrs. Cole will come if you do, won't you, Mrs. Cole? We'll do the talking if you'll just play along. She's got a yacht from her boatworks tied up at her place. We're going to say we've been out on that. My uncle's at the dinner party Mama's having, and he'll be flabbergasted of course—"
"A dinner party?" Joe's anger erupted. "Look at me, for Christ's sake! How I'm dressed. I'm not going to make a spectacle of myself—"
"Why would you make a spectacle? You look like you've been on a boat. We all do." She covered her face with her hands as her nerve retreated and her plans collapsed. "Please."
Joe hesitated. He gestured impatiently to Clovis and Billy. "Clear out before the police come. I'll see the ladies up to their doors and get home on my own."
He took Mrs. Cole's valise and Kate's small bag and gave the women a nudge up the beach stairs. "Mrs. Cole, will you play the part you promised to play if I agree to be a trained pony?" he asked when an eternity had passed.
"Yes, I-I suppose so."
"The last thing I'd ever ask you to be is a trained pony." Kate's voice broke.
Joe looked away. His throat worked. They climbed in silence, moving quickly. "If I do what you ask, will you give me five minutes alone with you when it's over?"
They were at the top now. Kate bit down on her lips, relief overshadowing all other thoughts.
"Yes. Anything."
"Okay." Joe's jaw set. He looked grimly at the cars of Mama's dinner guests lining the driveway. "I'll put these bags in Mrs. Cole's yard." He dropped them over the hedge where its foliage would hide them and was back at once. "What kind of engine on the boat at your place, Mrs. Cole?"
"One of yours. One you modified."
"And how far have we been?"
"To Bar Harbor."
"You make a first-rate smuggler, Mrs. Cole. You're fast on your feet. Smugglers have to be smart in the parlor too, though. I'll bet your grandfather's grandfather charmed ladies out of their shoes. It'll come naturally to you once we're inside."
Tears of gratitude stung Kate's eyes. He had given Mrs. Cole courage, and as they stepped through the front door, she thought she felt him touch her own arm in reassurance.
"Hello, Mama!" Kate sang gaily to the group having coffee and dessert in the parlor. Her sisters were there of course; Aunt Helène and Uncle Finney; the Garrisons; Judge Lowe and his wife; the Finers; nice old Judge Kirby. "Sorry to burst in. I'd forgotten you were having guests. We're just headed to the back parlor for, um, celebratory lemonade."
Some of the guests chuckled at her euphemism.
"How did the engine work?" Aggie asked, playing along.
"Splendidly." Mrs. Cole's voice was weak but determined. She wore her hair in a schoolgirl plait, the only style she could manage unassisted. "We've had the most marvelous trip!"
Mama was looking confused. Uncle Finney's eyes bulged and his mouth moved like a landed fish.
"Mrs. Cole is our neighbor." Mama hesitated, looking at Joe who stood stiffly silent. "And this is Mr. Santayna. Won't you all join us? There's some of Peg's lovely angel cake. And coffee — or something stronger if you prefer."
The invitation was exactly what Kate had expected. But Mrs. Cole seemed suddenly incapable of further speech. Joe saw it, and as if a switch had tripped, his dimples appeared.
"Mrs. Cole is awfully fond of angel cake. If you'll excuse our disreputable appearance, we'd be glad to join you."
Kate saw shocked expressions on the faces turned toward him. Except for Paul Garrison and Mr. Finer who assessed him with interest, those faces held gradations of disapproval. Joe's hair needed trimming. His sleeve was darned. There were traces of motor oil under some of his nails. He was being judged by that — and condemned — because she'd subjected him to it. She'd begged for his help and he'd given it, knowing the consequences.
Ignoring the antipathy directed toward him, he swept a chair into place for Mrs. Cole and another for Kate.
"Little Zenny Bayliss," Judge Kirby chuckled as more introductions were made. "I came to your birthday party the year you got your first pony. You've been on a trip, have you?"
"Up to Bar Harbor." Mrs. Cole, her cheeks pink, took a bite of the cake Rosalie had handed around. She swallowed rather too quickly. "On one of my boats. From my boatworks, that is. We were testing an engine."
Uncle Finney gave signs of being greatly unsettled. He knew something was amiss but had no idea which way to turn.
"Still as spunky as ever," Judge Kirby beamed. "I don't suppose you remember how I untied your hair bow and you nearly twisted my nose off."
"Mrs. Cole, I envy your fortitude," said Judge Lowe's wife. "I don't believe I could endure being at sea so long, even on a very large steamer."
"I expect it requires plenty of fortitude being a judge's wife," Joe suggested.
Mrs. Lowe laughed, as much pleased as embarrassed. "How nice of you to say. It does, actually."
"And what is your function — Mr. Sultana, is it?" questioned Marguerite Garrison, who was a bit of a snob.
"Santayna," Joe corrected easily. He had gone to stand by the fireplace, practically inviting inspection. He balanced the china plate in his hand with effortless grace. His grin held devilment. "I guess you could say my 'function' is protecting the ladies from roughnecks worse than I am."
Mrs. Finer chuckled, and as though she was helpless to stop it, Marguerite Garrison's mouth curved too.
"Mr. Santayna stretches the truth insinuating he's a roughneck. He's not only an excellent captain, he's as decent and intelligent a man as ever breathed!" Kate's voice rang.
Joe's gaze met hers. His grin spread and his eyes grew bluer. She couldn't — didn't want to — look away.
"He makes engines," said Mrs. Cole. "He has a contract with my company. Kate was accompanying us as I've hired her to manage my business interests—"
"Kate!" exclaimed Mama. "You never said a word."
"We've only just worked out the details."
Were there ever second chances? Kate felt weak as she watched Joe take Marguerite's empty cake plate and hand it to Rosalie, who stacked it on the dessert trolley while Marguerite fairly melted at his attentiveness. Time was crawling. Where were the police? As minutes and conversation inched on, Kate stood and set her plate of untouched cake with the others.
"You're the one who accompanied my niece on her other sailing expeditions this past year?" Aunt Helène asked in chill tones, the only woman in the room Joe hadn't half charmed. He hesitated, alert to dangerous waters.
"When she was showing her boat to prospective buyers?" he said carefully. "Yes. I accompanied her."
"I find it — Do stop fidgeting, Phinneas. What on earth is the matter with you? — I find it hard to understand why you'd traipse off to engage in work any common seaman could do if you own a business."
Her challenge hung in the air. Did he really have a business? Why didn't he look, and act, more like a gentleman? She began to squirm before the steadiness of Joe's gaze.
"I see no shame in honest work," he said softly. "I grew up on a fishing boat. And a man would have to be blind not to want to spend time in your niece's company. You don't know what lovely is until you've seen her face turned into the wind. Or what an argument is until you've tried to reason with her."
That drew a few chuckles. Joe's eyes met Kate's.
"If she asked me to take a rowboat to China with her, I'd most likely do it. I even asked her to marry me once, but she had the good sense to say no."
Silence gripped the room. Kate's words stumbled, following her racing heart.
"If you — I wouldn't be — so sensible again."
She never knew exactly how they reached each other, only that their swift but thorough kiss there in that room filled with onlookers healed all pain between them.
"Marry me, Kate." Joe's chin pressed hard against her hair.
"Yes. A thousand times yes."
His heart beat reassurance in her ear. His arms encircled her. The force which held them together was as fierce and as natural as the tides of Fundy. All at once she recalled where they were. Her eyes flew open. She saw the stunned expressions; felt the brow-arching silence. But Joe was smiling.
"Mrs. Hinshaw, may I have your permission to marry your daughter?"
Mama's mouth opened, but no words emerged. As time wound to a standstill, there was pounding at the door.
"Police! We've got the house surrounded. Open up!"
Paul Garrison was the first to recover enough to move. Four police streamed in as he opened the door. Mama was on her feet.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"There's a boat at your dock filled with liquor."
"I don't—"
"Who's Phinneas Taylor?"
Uncle Finney's eyes bulged. Heads had turned. "Er...."
"The receipt from Canada has your name on it," said the policeman in charge in a voice of steel.
"Uncle Finney, how could you!" Rosalie held a handkerchief to her lips. Kate could see it was hiding a smile.
"Wasn't it enough you let other thugs land their boats here without caring two cents if it got us in trouble?" asked Aggie indignantly.
"I'm sorry, Mama," Rosalie said as their mother looked stunned. "We didn't want to upset you. Mrs. Cole saw them and told Kate. We didn't know what we should do. We supposed — I know this sounds awful — we supposed he was bribing someone on the police."
"This is preposterous!" their uncle bellowed.
The drama which Kate had orchestrated seemed to be happening apart from her now, she was so dazed by the sea change that had hurled her into happiness.
"He said he wanted to buy the Folly," she said. "He asked to test it while I was away. I never imagined...."
"I haven't been anywhere!" Uncle Finney looked wildly around for support. He made no move to accuse Kate, fearful now of her capabilities. He caught sight of a policeman hanging back in the hallway. "What the hell–?" He broke off.
The laggard policeman shifted nervously. It was O'Malley. Joe, his hand resting lightly on Kate's neck, began to grin.
The police captain looked from O'Malley to Uncle Finney. "You two know each other?"
"No!" they both insisted.
The captain's eyes narrowed. "We'll sort this out at the station. The driver from the empty truck we caught starting down to the beach may want to tell us who hired him."
Uncle Finney paled. Aunt Helène was weeping.
"Theo and our lawyer and I will be right down to get you," she assured her husband. She beat a retreat toward the hall.
"Phinneas, how could you?" Mama's tone held newfound contempt as she started to see her brother's true colors.
The captain's gaze lingered briefly on Kate and Joe standing there in their sailing clothes. It moved to Mrs. Cole and he gave a faint shake of his head, dismissing suspicion.
"I apologize for this embarrassment," he said to Mama as Uncle Finney was escorted out. "The rest of my men will be gone as soon as they've removed the liquor."
The room had the feel of a theater where an actor has forgotten his lines.
"My dear, would you like us to leave?" asked Mrs. Finer.
"No, please." Mama resumed her role as hostess. "I can't promise more entertainment, but I can offer more coffee."
"I'll make sure Aunt Helène's all right." Rosalie gave Joe a welcoming smile as she passed.
"Miss Hinshaw, perhaps you and your young man should go make sure your boat isn't damaged in the unloading," Mr. Finer said with a twinkle.
Mama's intake of breath suggested she had forgotten the drama before this latest one. "Mr. Santayna... Joe... the answer to your question is yes. Will you join us for dinner tomorrow? Perhaps Arliss could come as well."
Joe smiled. "Mrs. Hinshaw, we'd be delighted."
***
They had come in the front door. They went out the back. As soon as it closed they held each other, unable to speak.
"Kate, I love you with all my heart," Joe said at last. "I can't offer anything you deserve right now, but I swear I'll make you proud of me."
"I already am."
He kissed her with an intensity which hadn't been possible in the pale confines of the parlor.
"Good heavens!" Kate said suddenly. "I forgot Mrs. Cole."
"She was having a fine time. I half think that old judge has his eye on her." Joe chuckled.
Arms around each other they walked down the beach stairs.
"I was thinking we could elope," Kate said. "Not steal Rosalie's thunder."
"It can't be too soon by me."
"Will your family be upset that you're marrying me?"
"They won't know what to make of you, but they'll treat you the best they know how. And the aunties are going to be in seventh heaven."
The beach below them was lighted by battery lanterns. Half a dozen men, some in uniform, unloaded crates of liquor and dragged it on handcarts up a makeshift ramp toward a waiting truck. They sat down and watched. Joe held her close.
"Look at all that liquor," he marveled. "A drop in a flood. In a tide. And we've been part of it."
"I wonder how many of those crates will make it downtown."
They laughed as one. It was like a dream now, the things they had done. What tales they would tell their grandchildren. About sailing dark, and pirates and storms, and how the whiskey tide swept them together.
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The End
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Dear Reader,
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Meanwhile, enjoy a sample of NO GAME FOR A DAME, the first book in my Maggie Sullivan mystery series. It follows the list of my other titles.
M. Ruth Myers
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Books by
M. Ruth Myers
The Whiskey Tide
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(writing as Mary Ruth Myers)
A Journey to Cuzco
Costly Pleasures
Friday’s Daughter
Captain’s Pleasure