not long before she began to wonder if even one step at a time would prove to be too much. The moist, humid atmosphere wrapped itself around her like a damp towel as she stepped out of the dark passageway.
Above, the vast bowl of the sky, a breathtaking blue so lucid it seemed infinite, reflected itself in the sunlit water. It wasn’t just that it was hot; it was the humidity that made it uncomfortable. The deck smelled of humanity, and bilge water, and tar.
At several points along the length of the deck were small groups of people. A few steps from the passageway, a man in a woolen cap was stringing up hammocks, and Caitlin stood for a minute to watch.
Farther along, she saw a mother with a young baby in her arms, her husband and two small boys gathered around their baggage. The woman had a sweet face, though it was a little wan and tired, and there were dark circles under her eyes.
The woman’s eyes were piercing, and dwelled on Caitlin’s bonnet with an intentness that began to disturb her so palpably that she proceeded to move away, out of the range of her vision. She didn’t feel up to initiating a conversation with strangers right now.
The deck reeked of unwashed humanity, but overall there was a feeling of energy in the atmosphere. The air was alive with arguments and laughter. Two loggers were shouting at each other and jabbing their fists into the air, as if impaling flying insects, while another sucked on an orange, spitting the pips overboard.
Caitlin skirted several huddled forms. As she made her way forward, no one spoke to her, although several of the passengers cast glances at her and exchanged whispered comments.
Near the rail, a half-grown boy in a tatty blue waistcoat and black trousers he’d outgrown was supervising three squabbling children. All the sour smells that rose from the unclean bilge eddied about them.
A brown-bearded, brown-jacketed man, hurrying by in the manner of an anxious squirrel, muttered an apology when they nearly collided. The heat and the smell and the boat’s slight rocking motion began to nauseate her.
It must be her tense state of mind, combined with a lack of sleep, that made her slightly indisposed. She would feel better presently. She wiped her forehead, and when she took her hand away her glove was wet. This place was impossible!
And where was Eliza Freeman? Caitlin returned stubbornly to her search.
As the riverboat plied its way at a steady speed up the river, Samuel busied himself with pretended work in the cargo hold, checking Caitlin’s mountain of luggage and ensuring that the teamster had penned the livestock securely.
In this new perception and knowledge, his feelings were beyond endurance. He’d turned down Liam’s offer of a round of poker and conversation. His excuse was that the manifests needed to be in order for the next leg of the journey. He was certain Murphy wasn’t fooled.
Shut inside the hold, he inspected the bill of lading with an aching head, a sour, dry mouth, and the knowledge that he had done something there might be no forgiveness for. His mind refused reality, and he concentrated on the physical activity. By midmorning, he had gotten his breathing under control, and with it his temper.
In spite of his assurances, Samuel wasn’t sure that Caitlin was entirely satisfied with his denial of Liam’s foolish prattle, but he had made no further attempt to improve it. After his first denial of any relationship to Zoe, he felt devious and awkward, unable to think of any word of reassurance that was not a lie.
It seemed better to say nothing. He had not even taken the Irishman to task. When Liam found him, he’d looked startled, then stricken. “Oh, God, I really stepped in it this time. Damn my big mouth, anyway.”
Samuel had given his friend a narrow glance that spoke volumes on the subject of loose lips, but he hadn’t said anything. There was no point in taking offense at Murphy’s ideas of humor.
He stretched, every one of his senses taut and alive. He could not deny the pulsing in his body. All because of a woman, one with whom he had no business ever having involved himself. His intense physical attraction to Caitlin still surprised him. He was beginning to feel some slight uneasiness as to what the outcome might be.
All chickens eventually come home to roost. Whatever the future, he must accept it now. He had no option. Then Samuel remembered that it was his fate that had brought him this far. The marriage was his, just as his fate was his. He was its creator.
The headache didn’t go away all morning, even when he busied his mind. Checking the manifest did not ease the pain. He decided it might be best to keep from drinking too heavily too often, for it made him very slow-witted the morning after.
It was a temptation to go back to Caitlin, but he resisted. It was a battle within himself, but this was not a time for half measures. Instead, he thought of her. He thought of the touch of her lips on his, the smell of her and the feel of her.
Temptation indeed.
It had been a long time since he had had a woman, and his body was reminding him of that fact. Summer Dawn had died two, almost three winters ago, and he had been without a woman all that time. He had missed Summer Dawn so much.
Never could he tell Caitlin of the anger, the betrayal, the bitterness, the despair, that had conceived the vile plan that resulted in the letter that was never meant for her.
Better that she knew nothing.
Samuel let out his breath in an explosive sigh. But to abandon all his honor? Then what? He was utterly guilty, even if he regretted nothing of what he had done. He still was not sure why he had done it. Or rather, if he knew why he had done it, he still did not know why he had not stopped himself.
Indeed, for all of yesterday he had debated whether to tell Caitlin of the tumultuous circumstances that had led to that letter to Caitryn. He had determined to tell her the truth before the wedding ceremony, give her a chance to renege. But his mind had slowly changed, or had it been made up all the time, without his knowing it? He wondered now.
He was aware of a tremendous mixture of emotions. A sense of horror with himself for what he had done, for his misconceived missive, for his misjudged marriage, mingled with an enormous elation at the understanding he had just gained of his wife’s character. And mingled with that was a fierce determination to continue with the arrangement for as long as was necessary.
Or was there more to it than that? And what lay at the end of it? He spent the second half of the day’s journey deep in thought, his shoulders hunched and his eyes focused on the middle distance as he stared at the countryside that marched by the river bank, and tried to shake the spell of her away.
Minutes—hours?—later, the vibration of the riverboat’s powerful engine changed, deepening to a liquid gurgle as the craft hugged the outer limits of the waterway and, taking a long, sweeping curve, commenced a slow, almost ritualistic confrontation with the river’s strong current.
Samuel straightened. There was nothing especially exciting in the scenery, and it was getting late. He felt he had allowed Caitlin sufficient time to get over her ill humor, so he made his way back to their cabin. From past experience, he knew she did not stay mad long. Her tongue might be sharp, but she did not sulk.
In any case, he badly wanted a wash, and he was hungry.
Heart pounding, he hurried down the passageway, which was lit by a single lantern suspended from a deck beam. The beams themselves were
