The Whiskey Tide by M. Ruth Myers Page A

separated from downtown by the Saint John River. Pa's Folly took its place amid schooners and fishing boats tying up across from the market slip, which the old man said would be most advantageous for loading their cargo. Down wharf were larger vessels, freighters and steamers, and beneath her feet she felt the strange pulse of river vying with tide.
          Kate climbed to the pier, somewhat rubber legged from her days at sea. She let the sounds and colors wash over her while Joe Santayna spoke to a port official. It seemed she heard fewer foreign tongues here than in Salem with its immigrant population. Enthralled, she looked out toward the ocean. Everything was so different; so strange. An awareness of how far they had come and how many wild miles of sea they had crossed crept into her. For a moment even the sadness of Pa's death retreated and she felt buoyant as the gulls swooping overhead.
          Saint John had four bonded warehouses from which liquor was sold for export. The one housing Malcolm Townsend's shipment was a four story brick building less than a block distant. Kate made her way slowly toward the street, sure Joe with his long legs would catch up with her.
          "Don't look so serious, lass. My mate and me will cheer you up," a voice said in her ear as an arm slid over her shoulders.
          Kate tried to jerk away but found herself pinned between two burly men, one showing a missing tooth as he grinned possessively at her.
          "My sister isn't interested," a voice said as another arm moved in to free her. Swallowing chagrin at her own foolishness, Kate found herself at the side of Joe Santayna. He stood half a head taller than the two men who had accosted her and his eyes were sharp with warning.
          "Yeah. Sure. No harm meant," said the one who had spoken. The two men melted away.
          "This isn't your college. You can't go around on your own and expect to be unmolested," Joe said before she could speak.
          Kate ducked her head in acknowledgment, embarrassed she had needed his help. They walked the gray cobbled street to the warehouse without speaking. Trucks of varying vintages rattled past them, creaking with goods on their way to the piers, clattering on their return.
          "I'll take care of the paperwork," Joe said at the door that marked the warehouse office. "We're going to have to lie about some things, you know."
          He looked amused at her surprise. It puzzled Kate how often he seemed to see something funny in her reactions. He looked authentic enough in his role of captain, however. He had pulled on a well-cut cap of navy blue, and despite his emerging growth of beard held himself with authority. When they entered the warehouse and she saw a dozen men ahead of her, either waiting or talking rapidly to busy clerks behind a long wooden counter, she was glad to let him take charge. She was, she realized, the only woman in sight. Nervousness kept her from full awareness of her surroundings, but she noted the square hewn posts too large for her to reach around that held up the floors above. Voices echoed off brick and timber.
          Their shipment was being held under the name Thomas Shakespeare. Kate showed her receipt and paid five dollars for the necessary export permit.
          "A thousand cases of scotch, is it?" a clerk said checking his records. "Loading onto what sort of vessel?"
          "A schooner."
          "Soon as we've got a truck free we'll start to load the first run, then," he said to Joe. "Gets a bit nasty if the tide drops too much while you're loading, and she's already started to turn. Four loads from here. One of our lads will come along to count as they're delivered."
          Down the counter another customer settled elbows on the well-used wood.
          "A thousand Corby's and eight hundred scotch," he said as if ordering a sandwich. Kate watched in fascination as he counted bills from a roll