Along Unfamiliar Paths Read online

  Along Unfamiliar Paths

  Amy Rognlie

  Copyright

  © 1998 by Barbour Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Truly Yours, PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  prologue

  On the Atlantic Ocean

  February 1903

  The clanging bells jerked him from a deep sleep seconds before the pounding on his cabin door began. Leaping from his bunk, the dark-haired sailor wrenched the door open, finding nothing but his captain’s voice echoing down the hall. “She’s going down! The ship is going down! This is not a drill.”

  The man snatched up his life jacket, pausing for one precious moment to assure himself that the locket was still there, lying warm against his chest. He felt a dark feeling of premonition, a sense that mortal danger hovered over him. Flying up to the top deck, he ripped the object from the chain that had held it close to his heart for so long. Pressing it into his captain’s hand, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders.

  For a moment, though, tears sprang to his eyes unbidden. Surely now she would understand. . . A surge of water over the deck interrupted his thoughts. Pulling himself together, he turned to the task of evacuating the ship.

  He reassured each fearful passenger with a smile, ignoring the acrid smoke that stung his nostrils and the memories that wounded his heart. Lowering the last woman to the safety of the lifeboat, he caught a quick movement out of the corner of his eye. He whirled, but it was in vain. The hands of his nemesis were too swift. Staggering from the hard slash across his face, the burly sailor felt himself being shoved over the railing.

  He snatched at the hands that were thrusting him downward, clinging desperately to them. “It won’t matter,” he gasped. “The papers are—” His hands slipped and he plunged silently toward the icy water, blinded by his own blood. The balsa wood in his life preserver struck him under the chin as he hit the water, throwing his head back with such force he was knocked unconscious.

  The frigid cold of the water brought the sailor back to consciousness at last. . .and filled him with terror. How long could he last in this icy grave?

  How foolish he had been, to think he could win by his own rules. He groaned aloud as his father’s angry face rose up to taunt him. And the locket. Surely it wouldn’t be too late. . . God, I can’t die this way!

  His tears spilled over, bathing his frozen cheeks in momentary warmth. Did anyone even know or care that he was dying out here? He shivered violently, colder than he ever thought possible. And the thick, unnerving quiet. No sound, except his own labored breathing. Was this what it felt like to die? He would just slip quietly under the water, and no one would ever know. . .

  God will know. A new wave of dread washed over him at the thought. He wasn’t ready to face God.

  Desperation lending strength to his numbed senses, he raised his head an inch to peer across the inky waters and into the frozen night sky, only to have his last hope fade away. The lights of the ship were gone. Gone! Like a young man’s dreams of the future. Fear rose in his throat, ready to strangle him.

  “God!” He cried out to the One he had so long forgotten. “Save me!”

  one

  London, England

  1906

  Ben Thackeray leaned back in his chair with a weary sigh. Lifting his eyes to the window overlooking the wharf, he absently scanned the activity as his mind continued to mull over the problem at hand. It just may be that I’ll have to go to New York myself, he mused. There are just so many loose ends, so many things that could go wrong, so many buttons. . .

  Buttons? He found himself staring distractedly at the back of a woman’s dress. There must be a hundred buttons down the back of that dress, he thought as she moved past his window. He watched a moment longer as she picked her way across the pier.

  Catching a glimpse of her face, he felt his mouth go dry. He turned back to his desk, running a shaking hand through his hair. “Get back to work, old chap,” he muttered out loud to himself. “It couldn’t be her after all this time.”

  Images of a slender waist and soft lips teased his mind as he studiously bent over his papers. Giving up after a few minutes, he unfolded his long legs from under the desk. From his viewpoint, he could see halfway down the waterfront. Ah, there she was.

  He watched her as she spoke to an elderly fisherman, enjoying the graceful gestures of her hands. He saw her turn to leave, her shoulders slumping. His heart leapt as she turned toward him.

  You’re imagining things, he told himself sternly. It just can’t be. . .

  Now staring in earnest, he tried to decide what it was about the woman that compelled him. Was it the glimpse of chestnut-colored curls. . .the curve of the jaw. . .the smooth forehead just visible under her hat. . .that was it!

  He had to see her without the hat, he decided.

  ❧

  Raine Thomas glanced at the leaden sky. It’s now or never, she told herself firmly.

  Lifting her heavy skirts an inch as she edged around the mud puddle that stood between her and the wharf, she grimaced at the muck. It reminded her of the barnyard back home.

  It wasn’t that she minded talking to Jacob; not at all. It was just that the waterfront was not her favorite place to be. All those men staring at her and making their crude remarks, not to mention the smell of the place. And then there was the time she had caught her heel and fallen headlong into that pile of crates. . . She felt her face burn at the remembrance.

  But a promise was a promise, and that’s what she had given to little Anna Peters—a promise. Not that it would matter very much since Raine would be gone soon, but still. . .

  She realized she was almost running to keep up with the pace of her thoughts. Slowing her steps as well as her mind, she sighed, her mind replaying once again the meeting with the Mission’s new administrator.

  “I’ve only been here a couple of weeks, Miss Thomas,” Mr. Duncan had begun in his frigid tone, “but already I can see that I do not approve of your methods for running the Mission school. They are not at all consistent with the rest of our efforts. Your informal attitude with your students encourages a laxness that I cannot condone.”

  Raine felt the blood rush into her face. “Mr. Duncan, I. . .”

  “Please allow me to finish what I was saying, Miss Thomas.”

  Raine bit her tongue, feeling her world crumble around her as he finished his speech.

  The rest of the painful conversation had dimmed in her memory, but the import of it had not. What it had come down to was that Mr. Duncan and his new advisory board felt strongly that a man would be more “suitable” as director of the Mission School. Raine was dismissed as of the end of the month.

  But where can I go? She rubbed her hand over her forehead wearily. There was no use going over it again. Going home to Papa was out of the question, and she had already considered every other possible alternative. She drew a deep breath, wishing God would send her some kind of message, some guidance. The breath of air made her nose wrinkle; the air here by the wharf was heavy with moisture, making the ever-present odors of unwashed bodies and fresh fish almost unbearable.

  I hope You’re not calling me to be a fisherman, Lord. She smiled with a glimmer of her usual good humor. I know You must have something for me. I just wish You’d show me what it is. . .

  Ah, there’s Jacob. Raine’s prayers were i
nterrupted as she spotted the man she had been seeking. “Good morning, Jacob!” she called to the big fisherman.

  “Miz Thomas,” Jacob acknowledged, turning back to his nets after a brief nod in her direction.

  “Your children haven’t been to the Mission School in two weeks.” Raine’s tone was gentle, questioning. “Anna would like. . .”

  “They’re needed at home!” he growled. “Got to git back to work, Miz Thomas.”

  Raine sighed in aggravation as she turned to go. What would she tell Anna? She pictured the girl’s sad little face. I don’t know why I even try anymore, when I’m going to be replaced in a few weeks anyway, she thought, feeling a new wave of frustration and anger begin to flood over her. The now-familiar sick feeling in her stomach grew as she turned to go. Lord, please give me strength. . .

  As she picked her way absently through the bustling wharf, she suddenly felt the weight of someone’s gaze. Glancing around, she met a pair of bright blue eyes. The tall owner of the eyes took a step toward her, then turned on his heel and disappeared into the doorway where he had been standing.

  Raine was not unaccustomed to admiring glances from strangers, but this was. . .different. Almost as if he had wished to speak to me, she thought. She shrugged off the odd sensation, focusing on making it to the street without catching her heel between the rotting boards of the wharf.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as she reached the brick-paved street. So what was she going to do? It was already the fifteenth of the month, and she was no closer to finding somewhere else to go. I’d sooner be a fisherman than go home, she thought, recalling her prayer of a few minutes ago.

  The Mission had been her home and employment for years now, and she hated to think of doing anything else besides teaching. True, some women did go to work in offices now. Perhaps she could even learn how to operate that queer new invention called a typewriter. But I don’t want to leave, she thought. She loved teaching, and besides, what would become of the children? Their small faces had been so woebegone when she announced that she would be leaving.

  “Why, Miss Thomas?”

  “Don’t ya love us no more?”

  “Where’re you going to go?”

  The questions had nearly broken her heart. But she did have two more weeks. During that time, she would make sure they knew she loved them. And of course Charlotte would still be there for them. She just wasn’t so sure about Mr. Graysdon, the new headmaster. She hoped he wouldn’t be as stiff as he seemed. She sighed again. Life could be so. . .bothersome sometimes.

  Her hat pins were poking unbearably by the time she neared the Mission. Yanking them out of her hat, she almost laughed with relief as she pulled the abominable thing off. Why did such large hats have to be in style these days anyway? Feeling decidedly grumpy and still no closer to a solution, she was looking forward to a time of quiet before she had to teach her afternoon class.

  A crack of thunder hurried her toward the dilapidated steps of the old brownstone building. Hearing someone approaching from behind, she hastily jammed her hat back on. I might as well at least try to stay in Mr. Duncan’s good graces while I’m still here, she thought wryly. Mr. Duncan would be appalled to see his headmistress in public without her hat.

  “Miss?”

  Raine glanced back over her shoulder as she reached the top of the steps. The man from the wharf! Had he followed her here? She grasped the porch railing, turning to watch him jog up the steps to join her. His blue eyes searching her face, he stopped directly in front of her. Close. Close enough for her to see the vein pulsing in his neck.

  ❧

  Ben ran his fingers through his hair, feeling as if he were in a dream. It had to be her. His senses throbbed as he stood near enough to smell the lilac fragrance she wore. She was even more beautiful up close. . .

  “Can I help you?” her tone was cool, interrupting his thoughts.

  “Yes, I. . .ah. . .” Ben felt idiotic, but he had to know for sure. “My name is Ben Thackeray and I. . .could you take your hat off again?”

  “What?”

  “Please?” He tried to put his earnestness and uncertainty into his face, hoping she wouldn’t deny his request. Reluctantly, she swept off her hat, cocking a questioning eyebrow at him.

  There it was.

  Ben sucked in his breath when he saw what he had suspected. The oddly shaped birthmark on her right temple seemed to jump out at him.

  Her hand flew up of its own accord to cover the mark. She stared at him, her eyes wide. He came back to his senses then, realizing that he had frightened her. You’re such a cad, he berated himself silently. Couldn’t you have been a little more subtle?

  “I’m sorry to appear so rude.” He started to run his fingers through his sun-bleached hair, then stopped himself. He hadn’t felt this nervous the first time he piloted the ship. The way she was staring at him didn’t help matters any, either. He didn’t like the wariness that lurked in her sage green eyes, as if he might actually harm her. She reminded him of a fawn he had startled out of its hiding spot once as he hiked through the woods.

  “I’m sorry I frightened you,” he apologized again. “I just had to be sure it was you. You are Raine Thomas. . .?”

  Her face turned paler, if that were possible. She stood poised as if to run, just like the little deer. He grimaced. This wasn’t exactly how he had pictured this moment happening. . . Not trusting himself to try to explain further, he drew a small package from his breast pocket. He unwrapped it with care and handed her the contents, watching carefully as she took the locket and held it to her heart.

  “Paul?” she whispered.

  He nodded.

  She stared at him, her eyes begging him to give her hope. “Is he—alive?” Her voice was a tortured whisper.

  He watched her compassionately, warring with himself. He longed to tell her what she wanted to hear, but. . . “Raine—may I call you that?”

  She nodded.

  “Let me tell you the story, then if you have any questions, I’ll try to answer them as best I can. I’ll start by saying that I don’t know for sure that Paul is dead.”

  “Go on.” Her voice trembled.

  “I first met Paul in 1901, and. . .”

  Raine interrupted, “1901. . .that was a year after he left. . .I was nineteen.”

  “. . .and that’s when he signed on as a crewman on one of my ships,” Ben said. “I own a shipping company,” he explained.

  Raine smiled, as though the picture of Paul on a ship, his black hair glinting in the sun, a gentle breeze blowing, had broken through her anxiety. “He always did love to be on the water,” she murmured lovingly. Her gaze grew misty and faraway.

  “Raine?”

  “I’m sorry. I was just. . .”

  He smiled gently. “It’s all right. I know this has all come as a shock to you.” He saw her swallow a lump in her throat, and he looked away, giving her a chance to compose herself.

  “How did you happen to have the locket?” Her voice still quavered.

  “Paul and I had become quite close friends. He made me swear that if he ever needed me to, I would find you and give it to you.” Ben’s voice was rough with emotion. “I’ve been looking for you for three years, Raine.”

  “Three years!” Tears gathered in her eyes. “You haven’t seen Paul in three years?”

  Ben shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Tell me the rest, please.” She closed her eyes for a moment, as though she were dreading to hear what he would say next.

  “There’s not much more,” he said slowly, hating to kill whatever hope she had left. “We pulled out from Boston on February 22, 1903. Since we primarily ship cargo, we didn’t have too many passengers, thank God. There was a slight mishap as we left the harbor, but no one paid too much attention. The voyage went smoothly for the first week. . .” Ben stopped, unwilling to relive once again the horror of that night. It had been so cold, so quick, so. . .

  He felt a small hand touc
h his lightly. “You can tell me,” she encouraged him.

  He drew a deep breath. “On Monday the twenty-eighth, I had just retired for the evening. Shortly after I got to bed, the warning alarms rang. I jumped up and raised the alarm. I banged on Paul’s door,” he remembered. “Fire was raging in the hold, and we soon realized we weren’t going to be able to save the ship. We concentrated on getting the passengers into the lifeboats. Paul gave me the locket—he must have sensed. . .something.” He shook his head. “The. . .the last I saw of Paul, he was helping a woman and her baby into lifeboat #4.” Ben closed his eyes in pain, then went on. “We both had life jackets on, but there was so much confusion, and everything happened so fast. . . I was helping keep control of the situation on deck, and I just never saw Paul after that.” He stopped abruptly, as if drained of all emotion.

  Tears had been flowing down Raine’s face as he talked. He gave her a wan smile, then standing up heavily, he offered her his hand. “I’m sorry, Raine,” he whispered. “Most of the crew were able to get on the lifeboats. Some of the others were rescued from the water, but no one knows what happened to Paul. His body was never recovered.” His hand rested on her shoulder for a brief moment, but his blue eyes never met hers again. “I’ll be at my office tomorrow if you need to ask me anything more.”

  He handed her a card with the address elegantly inscribed on it, then turned and walked away.

  ❧

  Raine stared after him a moment, then looked at the locket she still held clenched in her hand. “Where are you, Paul?” she whispered.

  She stood rooted to the spot until the first cold drops of rain mingled with the warmth of her tears. Making her way slowly to her room, she ran into her friend Charlotte.

  “Oh, Raine! I was just looking for you. Would you mind if I borrowed. . . What’s the matter?”

  “I’m not exactly sure, Charlotte.” Raine gazed into the concerned eyes of her best friend. “Could you teach my class for me this afternoon?”