An Unlikely Love. Dorothy Clark

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СКАЧАТЬ lacking in proper manners and judge her to be a woman of low behavior. She gave him a polite smile. “Thank you for your kind reassurance and assistance, sir. I’m most appreciative.”

      He took a step back and made her a polite bow. “My pleasure, Miss Bradley.”

      The steamer gave another lurch, headed into the wind and started around the outcropping. The rain slanted in between the decks. She clung to the railing and stared out over the water until Grant Winston’s footsteps faded away and there was only the patter of the rain against the hood and shoulder cape of her waterproof coat, and the whisper of the water against the ship. A well-brought-up young woman did not look after a young man—not even a kind, helpful one.

      She let out a long breath and turned her thoughts to the two letters in her purse. Who had prompted those in charge of the Chautauqua Assembly to send her an invitation to lecture on temperance? Could it be the Mrs. Tobin Swan who had written asking her to lead a group of women in protest against the local vineyards and wineries? Her lips lifted in a grim smile. Wine had destroyed her family. It would be a pleasure to stop its production at its very source.

      “Grant me success, Lord, I pray.” Her determination firmed. The solitude of the rainy deck was the perfect place to rehearse her lectures. The more she practiced them, the less chance that she would make an error or miss including an important point when she was speaking.

      * * *

      Grant leaned on the rail and watched the foaming water churned up by the side wheel. It was hard to imagine having a fear of the water. Going for a swim was his favorite way to end a summer workday. But then, he’d learned to swim when he was four years old. Of necessity. Of course, he’d been plenty afraid that day.

      He stared down at the lake water and thought back to the moment when he’d stepped on the wet mud at the edge of their pond and slid into the cold water. Fortunately, he’d instinctively pushed hard when his feet hit the stony bottom. A grin slanted his lips. That push combined with the frantic flailing of his arms and legs had brought him back up to the top of the water where he could gasp in air. He’d stretched his arm out in an effort to reach the bank, kicked his feet and stretched out his other arm trying to get closer, and suddenly he was swimming on top of the water instead of sinking to the bottom. Of course, the pond was shallow at that end. Not more than five feet deep even during a spring runoff. Things would have ended differently had he fallen in the deep end.

      His grin faded. He’d not thought about that before. He’d best fence that pond if he ever married and had children of his own. He straightened and moved down the railing, leaned against a post and watched the lights of Mayville disappear as the steamer rounded the outcropping. His mother and father were eager for him to marry and produce an heir. Being an only child had its responsibilities—a fact that they pointed out to him more and more frequently of late. It wasn’t that he had any objections to being married. He wanted a wife and family the same as any man. He just hadn’t met a woman he’d found interesting enough to hold his attention. Although Miss Bradley was definitely intriguing. And she was a “miss.” She hadn’t corrected him when he addressed her as such. And she hadn’t simpered about it, either. He hated that coy behavior.

      Muted laughter and voices drifted his way from the crowded passenger lounge at his back. He wiped the rain from his face, stepped over into the silence by the side railing and slid his gaze toward the front of the steamer. She was still there. A dark silhouette against the flickering, rain-streaked light of one of the ship’s lanterns.

      Miss Bradley was different all right. He wasn’t accustomed to a young woman dismissing him from her presence. And he’d never known any woman who shunned society for solitude. Or one who didn’t hurry inside as quickly as possible when it rained. So why was she standing out in the chilly, rainy night alone? And what had caused the sadness he’d seen in her eyes? Her lovely blue eyes.

      The steamer cleared the outcropping. Pinpricks of light flickered against the darkness ahead. He pushed back the edges of his mackintosh, shoved his hands in his trousers pockets and leaned back against a post studying the shifting pattern of lights. He’d intended to find out the schedule and attend only the science classes at the Chautauqua Assembly in the hope of finding a way to increase yield at the vineyard. But that was before his chance encounter with the intriguing Miss Bradley. Now he would come to Fair Point as often as he could get away from the vineyard. Foolishness perhaps; the assembly would last for only two weeks. But that would give him time enough to find out the answers to those questions.

      A ship’s whistle floated through the dark, rainy night. Bells pealed. Tiny lights danced on the water, approached the docking area miles ahead at Fair Point. A frown tugged his brow down. Another steamer was bringing a couple hundred or more attendees to the Chautauqua campgrounds from the other end of the lake. The swarm of people would make finding Miss Bradley difficult. But he liked a challenge...

      * * *

      Marissa stared at the lights gleaming along the shore and peeking through the trees on the hill. The assembly was much larger than she’d imagined. “Oh, my! There are so many lights they look like a swarm of fireflies.”

      “And I should think most of those who will be attending the assembly have not yet arrived.” The young woman crowding against the railing on her left smiled and tilted the umbrella she held against the changing direction of the wind. “I know some are staying at the hotels in Mayville. They don’t care to live at the camp. And I’m certain there are many others who will live in their accustomed comfort and only attend daily—when they so choose. My aunt is numbered among them. As for me, the next two weeks should be very exciting. I’ve never spent time in the woods. And with all the meetings and entertainments—”

      The steamer’s whistle drowned out the young woman’s voice. Bells ashore pealed out an answer to the ship’s signal. The steamer lurched, slowed. Water slapped against the side then rolled off to wash up onshore. They came to a full stop.

      “We’ve arrived! I must find my cousin.” The young woman spun about and joined the other passengers.

      The deck seethed with people clutching their bags and umbrellas and jockeying for position in the line to disembark. She pulled her small dangling purse into her hand and pressed back against the side railing to wait for the crush of people to thin.

      Shouts came from all directions. Crew members jumped to the dock, caught ropes that were thrown to them from aboard the ship and wrapped them around thick posts. The disembarking plank hit the dock with a thud.

      “All ashore for Fair Point and for the Chautauqua Assembly!”

      The hum of conversation aboard ship died. People pressed forward, umbrellas bumping. Farther down the deck, crew members hefted trunks onto their shoulders and carried them ashore. Hers was riding on the beefy shoulder of a man twice as broad as the plank they trod. She held her breath when the plank sagged beneath the man’s weight and hoped her trunk didn’t leak.

      “Come along, miss.”

      A deckhand motioned her forward. She tugged her hood farther down over her forehead and stepped into the line at the top of the wide gangway. Lantern light from posts at the end of the dock shone on the water between the steamer and the shore. It looked deep. Rain pocked the dark surface, danced on the plank and the dock. Was the plank slippery? An image of her sliding off the side into that dark water flashed into her head. She frowned and moved forward with the line, grateful she’d worn her boots instead of packing them. The couple in front of her stepped onto the gangway. She was next. She clenched her fingers about her purse and wished for a railing to hold on to.

      “We meet again, Miss Bradley.”

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