A Fortune for the Outlaw's Daughter. Lauri Robinson
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Not Trig, and not Lucky. Shaking her head, she answered, “You of course. I owe you for rescuing me.”
“Think nothing of it, honey. Besides, Lucky rescued you. My ship just carried you north.”
“Well,” she said, contemplating the truth of that. An answer settled and she grinned. “You told him to.”
Trig laughed again. “We’ll be sailing out in three days.”
Maddie started to count the hours at that very moment. When the time came, it was Trig who walked her down the steep slope created by the drawbridge-type door that was lowered from one side of the boat. He talked amicably about a Mrs. Smother as they walked along the dock then up the stone-lined shore.
Four blocks from the water—she counted and noted distinct landmarks to find her way back—he led her up a set of steps on a large brick building that, despite the colorful flowers lining the walkway, had every shutter shut as if keeping everything outside out and everything inside in.
Mrs. Smother was summoned by the older woman who answered Trig’s knock, and soon Maddie was ushered up a set of stairs by the same white-haired lady who’d opened the door while Mrs. Smother, a middle-aged woman with brown hair and faded blue eyes, invited Captain Trig to tea. Maddie had to grin at the thought of the captain drinking tea, but followed the other woman, who introduced herself as Martha.
Maddie was biding her time of course, she couldn’t just run away, not until the Mary Jane was about to set sail. Martha led her into an extraordinary room. There was a tub for bathing, a commode for, well, necessity and hooks on the wall holding several garments.
“There’s hot and cold water,” Martha explained. “You can wear anything that fits and leave your dirty clothes in that basket.”
A thousand questions danced in Maddie’s head, but she didn’t want to sound or look ignorant, so she simply nodded.
“Do you need any help?”
“No,” she answered, “thank you. I’ll be fine.”
Years ago her father had left her to live with one of his lovers—that was what he’d called Roseanne—and there had been a room just for bathing there, though not as elaborate as this. Maddie had learned a lot about life that winter, and men and women, and had been glad when Bass had returned. “Make sure you scrub well,” Martha said. “It looks as if it’s been a while since you’ve bathed.”
Considering there hadn’t been a creek handy for several days, it had been a while, but the other woman’s tone struck a chord that went beyond that. Maddie held her temper in check and waited until Martha opened the door before suggesting, “I would like to say goodbye to Captain Trig before he leaves.”
“It would be best if you didn’t,” Martha answered, not unkind, but stern.
Maddie bit her lips together and smiled. Three days could prove impossible here. A person knew when they weren’t wanted, especially one that hadn’t been wanted since the day she’d been born. It was just as well; she didn’t want to be here, either.
After her bath, which she figured out just fine, and dressed in a pale blue dress that had fit better than the others—at least she could button the front of this one—Maddie met with Mrs. Smother. She listened and nodded, even answered once in a while, although Maddie had no plans on heeding the “strict set of rules that must be followed at all times.” Not stupid, she remained amicable during the evening meal and completed all of the chores requested of her. Then she waited until the house was quiet before sneaking down the stairs and out the door in Mrs. Smother’s parlor. The other two doors were guarded. Bass had taught her a few things that had turned out to be useful, like stealth.
A thorough exploration of the docks, which took up most of the night, didn’t provide a place to stay until the Mary Jane sailed, and a fact occurred to Maddie. Mrs. Smother was sure to contact Captain Trig if she came up missing prior to him leaving port, and he might have the ship searched. As she backtracked and sneaked back into Mrs. Smother’s big brick house Maddie pondered how one might possibly board the Mary Jane moments before it sailed. Once again, a few of Bass’s escapades came to mind.
* * *
Cole cursed as he attempted to roll the wooden barrel up the ramp. The contents inside refused to shift, making the barrel roll back toward him rather than flipping over and rolling up the ramp. Too big around to heft onto his shoulder, he squatted and put all his strength into a hefty shove. It rolled, and Cole hurried upward pushing continuously to keep the momentum going. When it finally topped the ramp, he was breathing hard and calling Robbie a few choice words. Cole had no idea what might be in the barrel, but the scratchy writing, as if someone had used the burned end of stick, saying “the Mary Jane” told him Robbie had agreed to ship whatever the barrel contained.
After it quit rocking, he flipped the barrel on end. The faint morning light showed one more set of scratchy writing. “This side up.” After rolling it up the hill, flipping the barrel onto its other end was simple. He toppled it end for end and then paused to swipe the sweat from his brow as he glanced around, having sworn he’d heard a muffled moan.
“Cole!” Robbie waved from the dock. “Come help with this luggage, would you?”
Glad to leave the barrel where it sat, Cole headed back down the gangplank. Robbie could take the barrel below, into the cargo hull; that would be easy as the ramp was downhill. Arriving at his brother’s side, Cole’s jaw tightened at all the tapestry bags and traveling trunks. Disgusted with the “cargo” Robbie had lined up, Cole shook his head. “We aren’t a passenger ship.”
“We’ve already gone over that. Alaska isn’t yours. People can move there if they want to.” Robbie grinned. “Especially paying the price those ladies agreed to pay.”
Letting his snort tell his brother exactly what he thought of hauling a dozen dance-hall girls to Alaska, Cole grabbed a trunk and headed back up the ramp.
Robbie, with a couple of carpetbags in each hand bounded up beside him. “Could make for an interesting trip.”
Scowling, Cole answered, “Interesting isn’t the word I was thinking. Don’t you remember anything from family picnics? When you get more than three women in a room, there’s bound to be a fight. A dozen of them will be dangerous. Ugly, too.”
“Not one of those gals is ugly,” Robbie argued. “Trust me, big brother.”
Cole didn’t bother with an answer; instead, he declared, “We sail within an hour. If your ladies aren’t here, we aren’t waiting.”
“They’ll be here,” Robbie assured. “They’ll be here.”
Unfortunately, Robbie was right. The women arrived before the mounting stack of luggage had been carried into the hull. The area had been transformed by all sorts of furniture the ladies were paying to have transported. Dressed in outfits and covered in face paint that left their profession in no doubt, the women marched aboard, waving and blowing kisses at the few mates it took to run the Mary Jane.
Mainly a cargo ship, the Mary Jane only had a few cabins—Robbie had explained that to the women, which was why a portion of the hull had been transformed to make the trip as comfortable as possible. Robbie had set that all up, too, and Cole had been a bit surprised when Uncle Trig had agreed to it.
Trig had, though. In the end, his uncle had been the one to convince Cole there was as much profit to be made off those women as any other cargo they’d haul. It wasn’t that Cole didn’t appreciate a woman now and again, he just didn’t have time for the problems that came along with them. Rachel had been a headache from the get-go. Telling him what to do, what to wear. She’d partnered up with his mother, too, trying to make sure he never took to the sea. When he’d told Rachel he wasn’t interested in gaining access to Gran’s fortune, but in finding his own, she’d run to his mother again, bawling. The two of them hounding him nonstop had been more than he could take. He’d left despite the fact Rachel and his mother were planning