Chapter Twenty

 

Without a care to propriety or anything else, Malachai took two long strides toward the Ouija Board, shoved Mrs. Phillips aside, reached across the table, and plucked Loretta up from the sofa. She squeaked in astonishment, but Malachai didn’t stop to excuse or explain himself.

Carrying her in his arms, he marched them both through a frozen sea of surprised guests, out of the front parlor, and back to the French windows leading to the balcony. He kicked the windows open, marched outside, and kicked them shut again. Then he tore off his coat, threw it over Loretta’s shoulders, and stood her on the balcony squarely in front of himself, his broad back shielding her from any eyes that might attempt to pry into their business.

He didn’t let go, but leaned into her, bending down to stare straight into her eyes. Someone rattled the knob on the window, and he kicked back, hitting the door with his heel. Whoever it was went away. “Are you pregnant?”

She blinked up at him, as if he’d asked the question in ancient Sumerian. “Wha-wha—”

So he asked it again, enunciating clearly. “Are you pregnant?”

“P-pregnant? Why, I . . . I don’t . . . I . . . don’t know.”

“You said you picked up a bug. What are your symptoms?”

Stammering, Loretta listed them. “Well . . . I’ve been very tired. A bit queasy. I feel a little sickish, especially in the morn— Oh, my God!” The light dawned, and her mouth dropped open.

“You are.” Malachai turned a full circle, sucking in thick, foggy air, his insides boiling. “You are.”

“I . . . I . . .” Loretta looked as though she might faint for the second time in her life if given the least little push to do so. “Maybe I am.” Her voice almost wasn’t there.

This was it. This was the final blow to Malachai’s patience. He couldn’t take any more. He stopped pacing in circles and stopped before Loretta. He put both hands on her shoulders. “Now see here, Loretta. I won’t take any more nonsense from you. We’re going to be married, and we’re going to be married now.”

“I . . . I . . .”

“I don’t care if you have to violate every principle in your entire body, you’re going to marry me!” He realized he was shouting and endeavored to lower his voice. It wasn’t an easy thing to do. He expected an audience was gathering in the hallway.

“But . . .”

“No buts!” He bent down further and said in a harsh voice, “Do you have any idea how I grew up?”

He didn’t really expect an answer, but she shook her head. “N-no. You never told me.”

“Well I’ll tell you now.” He took another deep, foggy breath. “I was a product of your precious damned free love, Loretta. I don’t know who my mother was, and she probably didn’t know who my father was, and I’m pretty damned sure he never even knew he had a son. I grew up in an orphanage, Loretta, succored by a herd of nuns who didn’t care if I lived or died. It was hell, but it was better than dying on the streets, which is what would have happened if the nuns didn’t run a charity orphanage and hadn’t taken me in. I’ll be damned if I’ll allow any child of mine grow up like that.”

Her mouth had formed a shocked O. “I didn’t know . . .”

“It was hell, dammit, and it’s the main reason I swore I’d never beget brats all over the world.”

She gasped.

“And I won’t beget bastards, either. No child of mine is going to grow up unloved and without knowing his parents. My children are going to bear my name, and I’m going to be their father, for as long as they live. And they’ll know me. And you, my dear, are going to be my wife. Whether you want to be or not!” There. He’d said it, and he meant it.

“Oh, Malachai!”

You could have knocked Malachai over with a feather when she threw herself into his arms and burst into tears. Uneasy with this emotional display from a woman whom he knew to disdain such things, he held her closely and patted her shoulder, wondering if he’d been a trifle too harsh with her.

“I didn’t know any of that,” she sobbed. “You poor little boy. Oh, you poor, poor little boy!”

“Well, now, I’m not a little boy any longer,” he said, embarrassed.

“No, but you were. I had no idea!”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “I made something of myself in spite of my beginnings,” he pointed out.

“But it must have been so hard!”

“Well . . . I guess it was kind of—”

“Oh, Malachai, I love you so much!”

She did? Malachai had suspected as much, but she’d never said it out loud before. It gave him a slushy, mushy feeling in his chest.

Before he could stop himself, he whispered, “I love you, too, Loretta.” Again before he could stop himself, he added, “God help me.”

# # #

For some reason, the knowledge that Malachai wanted to marry her because he’d had such a difficult childhood comforted Loretta when she realized she was going to violate her feminist, free-thinking standards. It didn’t hurt that he’d admitted that he loved her, either.

There were two frilly white, wrought-iron chairs on the balcony. Malachai had pushed one of them against the French doors. He’d been sitting in that one, so that no one could interrupt their tete-a-tete, for several minutes, Loretta on his lap, before she managed to regain control of herself.

And that was another thing. She didn’t mind being so emotional now that she knew it was due to her impending motherhood.

Motherhood! She was going to be a mother!

“Our children aren’t going to be forced into specific roles, either, darling,” she whispered into Malachai’s lapel. She’d abandoned her spectacles, which now resided in Malachai’s evening coat’s pocket, and she’d probably ruined his clean white handkerchief by crying into it for so long. He didn’t seem to care.

Malachai said, “Huh.”

“I mean it,” she said, trying to sound as if she really did mean it.

He gave her another “Huh.” She got the feeling he wasn’t quite as ardent about the role issue as she, probably because he was only glad he’d won his point at last and she’d agreed to marry him.

“If we have a little girl and she wants to play baseball and climb trees, we’ll allow her to do it.”

“That’s fine by me.” He nuzzled her hair. She had to push her black flower back into place, but she didn’t mind.

“And if we have a little boy and he doesn’t want to play baseball, we won’t force him to do so.”

He shrugged his large, comforting shoulders, and Loretta sighed. She really didn’t feel up to delivering a lecture on the unfairness of stereotypical roles for men and women. It had been a rather trying evening, all things considered, although it looked as if it was going to end happily.

And they were going to be married! And she’d hardly had to sacrifice any of her principles to agree to it. After all, society being what it was, she couldn’t honestly expect a child to survive without various hurtful neuroses if it had to fight the label “bastard” all its days, could she? Even Malachai, who was ever so levelheaded and practical, had suffered from having been the product of a mother who wasn’t wed to his father. Loretta was as determined as Malachai that no child of hers would suffer unnecessarily.

“Are you fit to go back to the party?” Malachai asked gruffly.

She sighed again. “Do you really want to?”

“No, but I suppose we’d better mend some fences. We left sort of abruptly, and after an announcement that probably shocked your parents.”

Loretta’s conscience smote her. “Oh, dear. I suppose you’re right, although it wasn’t my fault that we left—” She couldn’t finish blaming him, because he covered her mouth—not with this lips this time, but with his huge hand.

“I don’t want to fight right now, Loretta. What I want to do is go back in there and announce to everyone that we’re engaged to be married. Do you think you can keep from doing anything militant for ten minutes?”

She knew she should resent his phraseology, but she couldn’t make herself do it. She also didn’t want to go back to the party. She wanted to stay here, on Malachai’s lap, with his strong, warm arms around her, for the rest of her life. Well . . . perhaps not that long.

It was a somewhat chilly but extremely nice night, even if it was foggy. But that was romantic, in an odd way. The outdoor electrical lamps were blurry smudges, and gray tendrils of mist curled around Malachai’s feet. When she looked out over the grounds of her parents’ estate, she saw what looked like a sea of grayish foam, out of which the tips of fir trees peeked, like the masts of a sunken galleon.

That made her think of her experience aboard Titanic, and suddenly the night didn’t seem so dreamy.

“Very well.” She sighed yet again. “I suppose we do need to get back to the party. Poor Mother is probably beside herself.”

The chair took that opportunity to groan piteously, and Malachai dumped Loretta off his lap and stood up. He held onto her until she’d gained her balance. “Those chairs are damned uncomfortable.” He squinted down at the offending piece of furniture. “I’m going to furnish our home with comfortable chairs.”

“Our home,” Loretta repeated, a modicum of dreaminess returning. “Do you want to build one? Or stay in my house? It’s large enough for us and any number of sets of twins.” She shrugged off his coat and handed it to him.

He struggled into it. Loretta noticed the wet spot on his lapel and reached up to brush at it, which didn’t help any. “I’m sorry I got your coat wet.”

Malachai squinted sideways, trying to see his lapel, then tugged to get the garment to fit properly. It was rather wrinkled. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. With narrowed eyes, he surveyed his beloved. “I think you’d better wash your face and powder your cheeks. You look like you’ve been crying.”

She smiled. “I have been. But you’re right. I’d probably better visit my old room before we brave the parents and guests.” She took his arm.

He patted her hand where it rested on his arm and shoved aside the listing chair. “As to where we’ll live, let’s talk about it later. I like your place, but we probably should discuss it. After all, we want to rear our children in the best possible surroundings.”

Our children. A thrill went through Loretta. She tried not to let it show. “I think San Francisco is a good place to rear children,” she murmured.

“San Francisco’s a great place,” agreed Malachai. “I don’t want to move away from San Francisco.”

They continued to discuss San Francisco’s many merits as Malachai opened the French windows, scanned the hall in both directions for interlopers, all of whom seemed to have given up and gone away, then led Loretta to the back staircase.

Fifteen minutes later, with Loretta’s cheeks freshly powdered and her hair neatly rearranged, Malachai stepped aside to allow Loretta to precede him into the front parlor. Her eyes were still a little bit puffy, but they didn’t look bad. This was especially true since they sparkled so brightly. She’d noticed them in her mirror, and had been pleased. Love truly did do wonders for one’s looks. It helped, too, that she’d replaced her spectacles. The puffiness of her eyelids was hidden slightly behind her lenses.

As soon as she swept into the room, movement stopped and chatter ceased. Everyone in the entire parlor and in the dining room beyond stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at her and Malachai. Loretta felt herself heat up from embarrassment. She hesitated at the doorway until the comfort of Malachai’s huge presence behind her bucked her up. There was nothing like a large man at one’s back to give one courage—although she knew life shouldn’t be like that.

At this moment, however, Loretta was willing to allow the world to fend for itself. She and Malachai had an announcement to make.

It was Jason who broke the spell. He’d been standing beside the fireplace with Marjorie, Joshua Pearlman, the lady violinist, and Mrs. Linden, who appeared upset. Almost as soon as the guests froze in shock at the advent of Loretta and Malachai into their midst, he lunged away from the fireplace and strode over to the parlor door. “There you are!” he said heartily, as if everything were normal. Taking their clue from him, most of the guests returned to their conversations.

“Here we are,” Loretta said wryly. Her amusement at everyone’s confusion was helping boost her self-confidence. “And we have an announcement.” Under her breath, she added, “I’m sure you and Marjorie and Mother will be pleased with it, Jason, curse you all.” She stuck out her tongue at her stand-in brother, then grinned to let him know she was happy in spite of her words.

Jason’s eyes widened. “You mean . . ?” He looked at Malachai, who nodded.

“She finally gave in,” he said in his deep, grumbly, thundery voice. Loretta loved his voice.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Jason took Malachai’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Congratulations, old man! I’m very happy for both of you.”

“Condolences might be more on the money,” Malachai growled. Loretta smacked his arm, and he grinned, his white teeth against his tanned skin making her breath catch. She wondered if she’d ever get used to his masculine presence. She hoped not, because it was very exciting.

Before they could plan their announcement, Jason turned around, lifted his head and his arms, and clapped. He wore evening gloves, so the clap wasn’t as effective as it might have been, but when he roared out, “Quiet, everyone! We have an announcement!” people paid attention.

Once more, chatter in the room stopped, and everyone turned to stare at Jason, Loretta, and Malachai. Jason stepped aside with a sweeping gesture of his arm. “I’ll let these two tell it.”

Malachai stepped into the breach as if he’d been born to command. Which, come to think of it, he might well have been. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been fathered by some adventurous sea captain somewhere.

“Miss Linden and I are engaged to be married,” he said without preamble. Their audience gasped.

“He doesn’t mince words, does he?” Jason whispered in Loretta’s ear.

“No, he doesn’t, thank God.”

“Engaged?” Loretta’s father blinked and peered around the room. Loretta suspected he was trying to find his wife, whom he always expected to handle the family’s social emergencies.

“Engaged?” This was a squeal, and it came from Loretta’s mother, thereby aiding her father in his quest. She helped him further by breaking away from the group she’d been with and hurrying up to her daughter, her arms held wide. “Oh, Loretta! I’m so happy!”

Loretta felt silly when her mother threw herself at her. Fortunately, Malachai still stood at her back, so he could both brace and embrace the both of them.

And then the onslaught began. Loretta’s father, elbowing people out of his way, charged at them, removed his wife from where she clung to Loretta, and embraced his daughter in a hug the likes of which Loretta hadn’t experienced since she was a little girl. It almost made her cry again to see how happy her parents were. She was glad she’d made them happy, even if it did mean her own marriage.

She had a feeling she wasn’t going to mind being married to Malachai, though. Not one little bit.

# # #

Malachai sighed with contentment, cupped his hands behind his head, and sank back against the pillows Loretta had thoughtfully propped up against the headboard. “That didn’t turn out as bad as I’d feared it would.”

She snuggled against him, running her fingers through his thick chest hairs. “What didn’t? The announcement or the lovemaking?”

He peered down at her tousled head and wondered if she was joking. His darling wasn’t a very ardent joke smith, so he presumed she was serious, although he couldn’t fathom how there could be any doubt about the lovemaking. “The announcement.”

She snuggled closer. “Ah. I thought that’s what you meant.”

“Your parents aren’t going to be disappointed that we won’t be having a big wedding, are they?”

“Good heavens, no! They’re so happy I’m finally getting married, they wouldn’t care if we eloped.”

Malachai felt his eyebrows lift. “Now there’s a good idea.”

Loretta didn’t speak for a minute, then said slowly, as if still mulling the matter over, “You know, Malachai, really isn’t a bad idea.”

“Huh?”

“If we eloped, it would save a lot of fuss, wouldn’t it? I mean, my parents are socially prominent and you’re the famous Captain Quarles of the Moor’s Revenge. If we got married in the regular way, not only would it take time to arrange, but there would be a lot of publicity, and I know you hate publicity.” She smiled sweetly up at him. “I think it would be fun.”

He grunted. “You only want to elope so you can get married without being considered conventional.”

“Pooh.”

Nevertheless, at noon the next day, Captain Malachai Quarles and Loretta Linden were united in holy matrimony by a justice of the peace at San Francisco’s Municipal Courthouse without any fanfare, and with Dr. Jason Abernathy and Miss Marjorie MacTavish in attendance as witnesses.

A month later, Mr. and Mrs. Linden hosted a grand ball in their honor. All the best people came. William Frederick Tillinghurst’s name wasn’t mentioned once. Malachai thought wryly that it was as if San Francisco society was embarrassed that it had once clasped Tillinghurst to its bosom and now intended to pretend he’d never existed.

# # #

September, 1915

“Damn you, Malachai Quarles!” A hideous scream followed this bellowed profanity.

Malachai, who was pacing in the reception hall, directly at the foot of the staircase leading up to the bedrooms in his and Loretta’s huge Lombard-Street mansion, winced as if he were a cringing coward rather than a rough-and-ready sea captain (retired). Derrick Peavey, Loretta and Malachai Quarles’ somewhat vague footman, looking fairly seedy in his brand-new uniform, blinked and stared up the stairs, his mouth agape.

“Dinna worry, Captain Quarles,” Marjorie said in a soft, understanding voice. “It’s only Loretta.”

“But she’s in pain,” Malachai whimpered.

Marjorie laughed. Malachai didn’t appreciate her laugh one bit. “It’s normal, though. Ever since the fall, you know, God decreed that women would give birth in pain.”

Still pacing, Malachai grumble, “Stinking plan, if you ask me.”

Given Marjorie’s conventional predilections, Malachai wouldn’t have been surprised to have received a reprimand from the woman. Instead she laughed again. He’d rather have been scolded.

This was awful. It was nerve-wracking. It was the most God-awful, miserable, frightening, panic-inducing—

“Owwwwwww!” came from upstairs.

Malachai clamped his teeth together. His head ached from grinding them so hard for so long. He didn’t care. Loretta was in pain. And it was all his fault.

“Aaaaaaagh!”

“I can’t take too much more of this,” Malachai growled.

Loretta shrieked again, and he lost his composure completely. With a bound, he started up the stairs.

Marjorie jumped to her feet. “Captain, please! Leave Dr. Abernathy to contend with her by himself. He canna want another patient to deal with. Loretta’s plenty enough all by hersel’.” As if inspired, she added the one thing that might have stayed Malachai’s progress. “Think of the bairn, Captain.”

He paused halfway up the staircase. “The bairn,” he whispered. “But it’s the bairns. At least, we think it is. Are.” He rubbed a hand over his stubbly face. “She was huge. Oh, God.”

But he slowly came back downstairs.

Twenty minutes later, when he was on the verge of total nervous collapse, he heard an upstairs door open. Racing to the foot of the staircase, he gazed upward, praying that everything was all right up there. He hadn’t heard a scream or a curse word for at least five minutes, and his nerves were jumping like water on a hot skillet.

“I’m sure it’s all right, Captain,” murmured Marjorie.

Derrick Peavey, for whom all this noise and nervousness had been a trifle too much, cowered in a chair against the far wall of the hall.

The maids, Molly and Li, crept into the room from the kitchen, where they’d been preparing sandwiches and coffee, at Dr. Abernathy’s instructions. Malachai glanced at them, but didn’t speak. Ever since Loretta informed him that the staff of their house was afraid of him, he’d been trying to be less gruff in his dealings with people. He’d discovered that housemaids and housekeepers, unlike sailors, didn’t take it as natural when he hollered at them.

Suddenly, Jason Abernathy appeared at the head of the staircase, grinning down upon the assembly like a mischievous imp, if imps grew to six feet. “Relax, Quarles,” he said. “Everything’s fine.”

Malachai couldn’t relax. “What is it? Are they? Loretta?”

Chuckling, Jason said, “Loretta’s fine.” He started down the staircase. “She’s not too happy with you at the moment, but she’s fine.”

Behind him, Malachai heard Marjorie say, “And the bairn?”

“Make that two bairns,” Jason said.

He reached the foot of the stairs and held out his hand for Malachai to shake. Malachai’s innards were in too much of a turmoil to respond properly, so Jason grabbed the hand dangling limply at his side and shook it without his help. “Congratulations, Captain, you’re now the father of a fine, healthy boy and a fine, healthy girl. And, if I may be allowed an opinion on the matter, both of them are beautiful.”

“It was twins,” whispered Malachai, stunned. “Twins. Twins!”

Shoving Jason out of the way, he took the stairs three at a time. Still grinning, Jason gazed after him, then turned and smiled at Marjorie, who was wiping tears away. “Go on up, Miss MacTavish. Mrs. Brandeis is swaddling them, but I’m sure she can use your help.”

Without a word, Marjorie rushed up the stairs after Malachai.

Derrick Peavey, still hunched in his chair and obviously disconcerted to have seen the captain whom he had known and revered for more than twenty years in such a state, looked at Jason, his eyes wide. “It was the Moors done it.”

Jason only laughed.