If I Wait For You by Jane Goodger Page B

“If she’s not
carrying, then why’s she going about so gloomy? You two have a
tiff?”
    “ My relationship with my
wife is none of your concern, Mr. Mason.”
    “ All new couples fight, Mr.
Mitchell. It’s nothing to be ashamed about.”
    “ And you, who have such
vast experience at such things, are about to give advice.” West
gripped the railing, trying not to laugh aloud. He did not want to
hurt the old man’s feelings, but the idea that Sara was pregnant
was too, too funny. Never had a woman gone more untouched than the
one sharing his cabin. He shook his head as he contemplated
Oliver’s misapprehension. Imagine, thinking Sara pregnant. With his
child.
    In that moment, he wished fiercely
that it was true. The feeling hit him hard and unexpectedly. Sara.
Carrying his child. He swallowed hard, trying to rid himself of the
thought, trying instead to imagine Elizabeth large with child. But
when his mind’s eye roved above the swelled belly of his wife, the
woman was always Sara. As long as he had a will, such a thing would
never happen. It was more than that Sara would never be his wife in
truth, but that he would not endanger his child. He thought again
of his brother, of the pain Jared endured feeling responsible for
the death of his wife and infant girl. He would never put a woman
he loved in such a position, and never his own child. Not that he
loved Sara. Certainly he did not. But a nagging voice whispered to
him: Not yet, at any rate.
    “ You know, Mr. Mitchell, I
may be crazed, but I think that’s the Huntress .”
    West’s thoughts abruptly
returned to the nearing ship, it’s name now nearly discernable.
It’s shape was familiar, and West, who sailed on her before taking
the Julia , knew
in an instant what ship he was looking at.
    “ It is the Huntress .” He turned to
the ship, joy filling him at the thought of seeing his brother
again. “Furl the mainsail,” he cried, knowing that his brother
would recognize the signal, even if he did not recognize his old
ship. West watched for long moments waiting for the Huntress to respond to
his signal for a gamming. Finally, the mainsail was pulled in, and
it seemed to West it was a reluctant gesture. A strong and unwanted
feeling of unease filled him. He had not seen his brother in three
years, and the last time Jared had been torn by a grief so
powerful, West feared he might harm himself or someone else. A
hearty call from his brother as the ships drew near helped to ease
his unaccountable ill feeling.
    “ What luck, this,” Jared
called over. His face was covered by a heavy black beard, but West
would have recognized his form anywhere. Jared Mitchell, like his
father, was a huge bear of a man with a body that held not an extra
ounce of fat. He was the sort of man people called “strapping,” the
sort people—especially men—liked immediately. Women were afraid of
him at first, for he looked so formidable with his dark looks, his
wild hair and beard. Abigail had never been impressed by his size
or his boisterous behavior, having known him when he was just a
skinny child. She had gentled this giant with her quiet ways. But
now, Abigail was long dead, and West sensed something inalterably
different in his brother. He looked like a man who had not a care
of how he looked, what he said, or what he did. He stalked up and
down his ship as if it were a cage holding him back. The men, West
noted, hung back from the railing while his own crew had rushed to
the side, eager to see unfamiliar faces and to hear tales that were
sure to come from this seasoned crew.
    Jared’s men looked hard and
mean, their clothing little more than rags, their feet were bare.
Though this was not uncommon on a whaler, bare feet having much
better traction on an oil-slick deck, West couldn’t help but note
that several of the Julia’s men now sported brand new woolen socks on their
feet. They looked well-fed and well-groomed. Much of this could be
attributed to the fact the