In which Miss N. tells her story and bares her "sole" (mf)
The bell that he had rigged remained silent through the night, but Liam's sleep was restless --- his dreams pervaded with bawdy adventures. He awoke groggy, and for once was thankful for the coldness of the water when he washed.
To his puzzlement, the eerie calm upon the lake was unchanged. 'Twas quite odd --- in nigh four years upon the Lakes he had never encountered the like --- but whatever be the cause, he was gladdened by the delay in their arrival in Toronto, when she would disappear from his life. Rational thought prevailing, he tempered his contentment with a consideration of how long the provisions would last.
The day unfolded much like the previous. After breakfasting, they returned to the foredeck. Liam was pleased with the progress of the repairs. She had closed more than half of the rent canvas, while he had fashioned a rough shell.
For the better part of the day they continued with their tasks. He fine-tuned the shell with a chisel, sanded it, and drilled a hole for the pin. With that completed, he rubbed a coat of oil into the wood. While his hands were grimy, he proceeded to oil the anchor, picking up where he had left off two days past.
They conversed intermittently. The long stretches of quiet were by no means unpleasant, being familiar to Liam over years of working alongside others upon the farm, in shipyards, and upon boats, however he was consumed with curiosity about her. His feelings had never been so stirred by a lass before, and he ached to know her more intimately.... For a while, as he worked, he indulged in a vision of himself rescuing her from her present predicament --- whatever it be.
He did not know if the foray into his life's story signified a shift in their relationship. Were they now on a basis where a question about her would not be out of order? From her air of polite detachment, he sensed that there still remained a distance between them, a distance delineated perhaps by the difference in social class or simply by the direction of money exchanged. Dressed in the lad's kit and sitting upon the deck near him, 'twas easy to forget that she was a wealthy young lady who had hired his services. The fact that she was a customer with whom he had entered into a contract of honor chafed at him. In any other circumstance, he would not hesitate to pursue her affections.
Bloody uncertainty! He decided to speak up. "Have ye journeyed much Miss Novikov?"
She replied that she had been to visit her aunt in Toronto, and her family had visited Chicago in 1893 for the World's Fair. When he asked her if she had brothers and sisters, the guarded expression again darkened her eyes.
"I have two brothers," she said quietly. She knotted the thread briskly on the sail and reached for the spool.
Sensing her reticence, Liam desisted for the moment. He wiped his oily hands with a rag. Donning his own sailmaker's palm, he threaded a needle and joined her at the sail, starting from the opposite end of the tear.
As they worked towards the middle, their hands and bodies gradually moved closer and closer together, till they were sitting side by side, their knees nigh touching. In such stimulating nearness, his eyes were frequently drawn up from the sail, lingering upon her beautiful face, her plush bow-like lips. On a couple of occasions her dark lashes lifted and she met his gaze briefly --- her expression opaque --- before looking back down at the sail.
By the time the sun set the first layer was completed, and a long, narrow canvas patch had been tacked in place.
*****
Later that evening Liam stood in the galley, chopping onions and potatoes. The lass leaned against the chart table opposite examining the open chart of Lake Ontario. She picked up the calipers, holding them up towards the lantern light. "What is this?" she asked.
"Calipers. They help measure distance upon the chart. Turn that screw there, ye can see how they open." He reached into a locker for plates and cups. "Would ye fancy some wine, Miss Novikov?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I've only had spirits once...it made me sad."
"If I may say --- having had spirits upon many occasions," he said with a wry grin, "I've observed that drink merely heightens what ye already feel."
She seemed to ponder this.
"What were the spirits that ye had that made ye sad?"
She turned the calipers over and over in hands before eventually replying, "Champagne."
"Champagne?" He repeated with exaggerated surprise. "Is that not drunk at fine celebrations?"
"It was indeed a fine celebration --- my mother's remarriage," she said evenly, pressing the sharp points of the instrument into her palm.
Her words sank in. "Did ye lose your father too?" he asked gently. She nodded. "How old were ye?"
She squeezed the caliper legs together and tightened the screw. Then her eyes flicked up to meet his gaze. When at last she spoke, her voice was strained.
Miss Novikov's Story
Earlier today I said that I have two brothers --- that is partially true. I
had
two brothers, one older, one younger. When I was fifteen, my elder brother Lucas fell ill with fever; the physicians could not save him. Lucas was just one year older than I, and was my constant companion and protector during childhood. Oh what fun we used to have romping about the house and garden when we were little, playing hide and seek, enacting fairy tales, making up games for our younger brother.
When we were older he would provide me periods of respite from my mother's dictates upon the proper decorum of a young lady. He taught me to ride a horse astride like a boy. I would dress in his clothes and we used to slip out to the stables then explore the city.
Scarce one month after his passing, my father took to his bed and simply refused to live. I am convinced that he died of a broken heart. So might we all have done at that juncture, had it not been for the kindness of my Aunt Elizabeth, who came to Rochester to comfort us immediately after, then brought my younger brother and me with her back to Toronto for an extended visit, before eventually returning to Rochester.
A sense of quietude was just starting to reestablish itself some ten months later, when to my brother's and my astonishment, my mother announced that she was to remarry...and the man to take my father's place? A scoundrel is too kind an epithet for him. My father had been president of an investment bank, as well as owning several flour mills near Rochester. This man had at one time been a business associate of my father. A few years prior, he had caused my father much consternation when he jeopardized the bank's standing by recklessly speculating with investors' funds.
I suspected his intentions toward my mother were not honorable, and that his object was her considerable fortune. Subsequent events were to prove my suspicions correct. I know not how he recommended himself to my mother --- whether he played upon her vanity, or preyed upon her grief. Perhaps she truly had some affection for him --- he is what many would consider a handsome man.
They married and he insinuated himself into our home where my father had been. I was sent off to finishing school shortly thereafter. I was glad to go; I could not bear to see him in our home, lounging in my father's chair, rearranging my father's library, putting his arm about my mother.
When I returned home from school for the holidays I began to have a sense of unease. I noticed that he often maneuvered himself so as to place us alone together, whereupon he addressed me in a most discomfiting manner --- inquiring if I had a beau, if my maid helped me bathe, noting how my figure had changed since he last saw me. He would touch my arm or my waist, or impose a "fatherly" embrace upon me. I was grateful when the holidays were over and I returned to school.
But my reprieve was short lived: this past June I was graduated from the academy and had to return home. It was then that his true character emerged. His attentions toward me escalated; try as I might to avoid him, he succeeded in cornering me for brief moments before my mother or a servant appeared, whereupon he would put his arms about me and ask me the most...crude
...[she faltered at this point].
The tipping point came one evening when we had all gone to the theater. My mother left early, complaining of a headache. My stepfather sent her home in the carriage, saying that he would hail a hansom cab to take my brother and me home after the play. However, when the play ended, my brother begged to go home with a playmate also in attendance, and stay overnight --- of course my stepfather gave him permission.
Thus I found myself alone in a hired cab with him. He set upon me in short order --- embracing me, trying to raise my skirts, putting my hand upon...his trousers. At this, I threw myself out of the cab. I implored the driver to let me ride atop with him...a kind man, he perceived the situation and kept by my side until I was safely home.
I kept my bedchamber door locked after that, although I suppose that would not have kept him out were he determined to enter. I believe he truly thought himself an accomplished seducer --- his pride was sorely injured by my rejection, but I don't believe he would have... forced me. He seemed to find a perverse pleasure in tormenting me until I would submit in humiliation.
The repercussions of my rebuffing his attentions were swift. The next morning when I rose my maid came weeping into my chamber carrying a bundle of cloth. She unwrapped it to reveal my dear pet cat, dead, her neck broken. She had found her poor body in the garden below my window. We wept together and she helped me bury her in the garden before she had to return to work. I stayed by the grave, making a garland of catnip to place upon the stone.
My stepfather appeared beside me. In full view of the house he made no advance upon me, but said: "I hope you now appreciate now the perils of denying me." In horror I understood that he was the murderer. "I shall give you a choice. You will either submit to me... or I shall arrange your marriage to my business associate, Mr. D---. I see from your expression that you are acquainted with him. He has taken a fancy to you."
I was indeed acquainted with the man of whom he spoke; he had attended a dinner party at the house. He too was old enough to be my father and most fearsome in appearance, his features grotesque from years of indulgence in liquor and cocaine. In behavior he was cut from the same cloth as my stepfather --- at that party I had momentarily retreated to the morning room to fix the catch of my necklace in the looking glass. He had suddenly accosted me, lifting my gown with his cane before I escaped him.
My stepfather then added: "You have until your eighteenth birthday to choose."
