The Whiskey Sea Page 13

  Princeton answered, “I’ve been known to hold my liquor. One of the first things you learn in college.”

  Dutch whooped out a laugh and fixed them both another drink. Frieda wondered how long Princeton could take this.

  After delivering the next round to the others, Dutch sidled up to Princeton and said, “Must be good for you with the ladies, you being an Ivy Leaguer and all.”

  Frieda listened hard. She didn’t want to miss this. She had no clue about Princeton’s romantic past.

  Princeton shrugged, took a slug of the fresh drink, and said with a devious grin, “So many dames, so little time.”

  Another slight. But then again, what was he to say? Princeton had become expert at dodging questions about his personal life with flippant remarks. She had witnessed this kind of thing before when Dutch tried to pry. Maybe that was all it was. She’d always admired his ability to be friendly and comfortable with everyone but not take anyone too seriously, either. But all the rationalizing she could muster didn’t relieve her pointed sense of loss. She slumped and looked down at her hands. Better now rather than later.

  Dutch snorted out another laugh and clasped Princeton by the shoulder. “Let me teach you something you might not have learnt already, only you should’ve. You always make time for the dames, my man. You always make time.”

  Another man joined them and blocked Frieda’s view.

  Rudy turned to her. “What do you think of him?” he said just loud enough for her to hear. The music from the bars was pounding now, pulsing down the pier and over the water, while the rest of the town had gone from a few twinkling lights left on by night owls to black and still.

  “I figured you’d ask,” she said, and lifted her head to look up the pier, where more men were striding out, coming to join their party.

  “None of my beeswax, but I’m asking anyway.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not even remotely on the same level. What do you think of him?”

  Rudy gave a chuckle. “I was prepared to find him a fool, but he seems like a good enough guy.”

  Frieda nodded. Yes, a pretty great guy, in her opinion, but she had been nothing but a passing fancy.

  “Listen here,” Rudy breathed out as he scooted closer. “I want to tell you a love story.”

  Frieda smirked. “You?”

  “Yeah, I know it’s not like any of us here to tell love stories, but I think you’ll find it fitting.”

  “O-K,” Frieda said hesitantly.

  Rudy sat taller and looked out to sea. “My wife was the prettiest, most popular girl in our high school class. Came from a family with some money, too. Everyone wanted her and told me she was out of my league. But I got her anyway.”

  Frieda took her last sip of champagne. “How?”

  “I insulted her.”

  Managing a laugh, Frieda wiped some champagne from her lips.

  “Yeah, I insulted her. Everyone else treated her like a princess, complimented her all the time, and followed her around. She could say the dumbest thing, and everyone acted like it was brilliant. So one day she was reading aloud a poem she had written. Everyone else was oohing and aahing, but I told her what I really thought. That it was more sap than substance. She was so impressed that anyone would tell her the truth, she started going out with me. From then on we were as thick as thieves. She moved to the wrong side of the tracks to marry me, gave up her inheritance, too. Her daddy wrote her off because he couldn’t stand the idea of her being with me.”

  Frieda sat dumbfounded; all the while a little light of hope began to shine behind her eyes.

  “Too bad about her father, but you’re right. That’s a great love story.”

  Rudy gathered his things to leave. “I’m turning in. Just wanted you to hear that first.”

  Now the afterdeck was swarming with men getting drunk on Dutch’s giggle water, and their laughter and shouting had risen to a roar. She couldn’t hear any individual conversations, but every time she caught sight of Princeton, she strained to hear what he was saying, what he was talking about to all of these men whose lives were nothing like his. But he seemed fine. If he didn’t look so damn gorgeous, he would fit right in. Just a glimpse of him swayed the boat under her feet, even though the water was still. What a fool she had been. And yet she couldn’t just walk away. Despite it all she worried for Princeton, even though he was holding his own for now.

  Few of the men noticed her sitting off to the side, and only once did one of the drunks try to cozy up to her. After shooing him off, she heard someone make a remark about her being the babysitter.

  She should leave. But something protective, almost motherly, kept her sitting there. Babysitter indeed. Would he be able to deal with this as the night wore on? Dutch had a cruel streak. Maybe he just wanted to revel tonight, or maybe he wanted to get Princeton drunk just to make sure he knew his place, to take him down a notch. If Princeton got sick, who would help him?

  She saw him stagger, then quickly make a correction and plant his feet again.

  One of the latecomers produced a ukulele seemingly out of nowhere, then strummed and belted out, “How You Gonna Keep ’Em Down on the Farm?”

  Everyone found it hilarious, including Princeton, and the drinks poured on.

  Surrounded by intoxicated people, coupled with her confusion over Princeton, she began to wonder about everything. The liquor. The running. People drinking more than ever, getting foolish about it. She now played a part in providing the stuff of so many people’s woes. There had always been some known drunks in town who had ruined their lives and families, and she’d heard tales of many others. Drunks had likely been patrons of her mother’s services. And the other day down near Bahrs, someone had hung an old Anti-Saloon League poster that read, “The Saloon or the Boys and Girls.” She’d understood it as a message to the runners, and moments such as this hit Frieda with sudden qualms. Was it a sign? But what was she to do about people drinking? She could not save people from themselves.

  Princeton was not the first to leave. Earning himself some respect, she supposed, he waited until a few others had called it a night before he did. When he tried to step off the transom onto the pier, however, he stumbled. Dutch gave him a hand. “You’re looking a little green about the gills, ain’t you?” Dutch said with a sloppy smile.

  Princeton nodded and managed to smile back. He jumped off and made an awkward, lurching landing but kept on his feet. As he walked down the pier, Dutch called out, “Don’t fall in,” and laughed.

  Frieda watched Princeton wobble down the pier, turn on the dock, and then disappear into the deep-indigo shadows. He never looked back at her. Not one glance.

  Her feelings turned dark. She wanted out of here. She wanted to curl up in her blankets and sheets on the floor and try to make sense out of what had transpired tonight. Maybe in the still of night she could find some light. She waited a little longer so it wouldn’t be obvious she’d waited because of Princeton. Dutch made another round with his brew, even though the men left on the afterdeck were slurring and staggering, laughing at nothing, and grasping at anything. They wouldn’t stop until they could go on no longer.

  By the time she stepped off the boat, Dutch was vomiting over the side.

  Before she walked down the pier, she said under her breath, “Serves you right.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The next night Dutch was obviously still hungover and not at the top of his game. He stood a bit rockingly at the pilothouse as he started the engines, and the sea was churning. Surprisingly, Princeton seemed unaffected by the drink he’d suffered the night before. Maybe he had learned how to hold his liquor in college after all.

  And more surprisingly, the other Princeton was back. When he first came on board, he gave her that gleaming slash of a smile, and sweet fondness shone in his eyes. Relief spread through Frieda like the softest of touches. Her dour mood switched to a joyous one in a matter of moments. She breathed in the night with expectation and happines
s, all the while wondering what had happened. Why had he ignored her the night before? It no longer mattered. He was paying attention to her now. He was back to seeking Frieda out, sitting next to her, talking about the city, and anticipating the pickup and the drop. Maybe last night had been all about proving himself to the men and had meant nothing about her.

  This by-the-sea living clearly suited Princeton. His skin was tanned and smooth, and she had to check herself from reaching out and touching his face.

  They made another slick run to the rum boats and back, and it felt glorious. The wind and sea had never tasted sweeter. Rolling waves undulated across the open ocean and careened onto Sandy Hook with weighty wallops on the bar. Frieda took off her hat, let her hair fly free, and closed her eyes to feel every ounce of the power beneath them. Princeton had come around to her again, and that, taken with a roller-coaster passage on heaving seas, made for a night of ecstasy, even though the process took a little longer due to Dutch’s sluggishness and the rough conditions.

  When it was over and they were back at the dock, Dutch went below to catch a rest, and then Rudy left. After preparing the boat for the night, Frieda looked for Princeton. He had waited for her. Coming to the edge of the pier, he offered her a hand up. She let him take her hand, although she didn’t need any assistance. Perhaps she wanted to feel the touch of his skin after all those gazes had gone by without ever being turned into something else.

  That night he hadn’t worn a hat, and his hair was tousled in a beautiful way, as if he’d just awakened on some sunny morning. “Let’s walk down the beach,” he said with that silkiest of voices. “I don’t want to deal with the crowd in the bar tonight.”

  He kept her hand in his as they left the dockside, and this time she didn’t pull away. She let him lead her. Don’t let go. Oh, please . . . They walked toward the tiny stretch of beach north of the harbor. On the way she could see Silver’s house—her home—sitting dark in the distance. No lights on. Bea and Silver surely already in bed. No awareness of how much her life was changing at that moment.

  The beach was deserted, and the sand was soft. Small waves kissed the shore.

  “So we’re off for a while,” Princeton said as he looked toward the moon that had been growing fuller every night.

  She had to smile. He’d said, “We’re off,” as if this were a real job for him.

  She simply nodded, and both of them stopped, facing each other in the middle of the beach, a few feet from the water.

  “Let’s go to the city tomorrow,” he said.

  “The city?”

  “Yeah, you know, the big city over there,” he said with a smile.

  The lights of New York twinkled, as if in teasing or dancing. Her eyes tried to make connections between all of those blinking signals. What had Dutch been trying to say to her when he’d asked her, “It ain’t because of Princeton, is it?” Was he messaging, Don’t let him do this to you? But she saw something in Princeton, something the others didn’t see. Maybe it was the sadness that hung around him. Maybe it was his frankness. Maybe it was the way he made himself fit in. But the most important thing was that he had shown himself to her and no one else. She was ensnared, as if she’d been tied up in chains. She had not foreseen this. She of all people; feeling vulnerable was a foreign thing to her. Yet she had started to like the liberating sensation of her walls coming down. But the other part was terrifying. Any weakness was mortifying. Should she walk away now? This was her chance. Refuse him; that’s all she had to do.

  He whispered, “Don’t tell me you’ve never been.”

  She looked at him. “I’ve never been.”

  His smile faded. “That’s almost a crime.”

  She shrugged. “I have responsibilities here.”

  As if letting that sink in, he stood still. “So . . . maybe it’s time you took a night off from all of those ‘responsibilities.’”

  “Oh, I don’t know . . .”

  “Come now. You have to go to the city. And hey, you’ve got an expert to show you around.” That smile again . . . “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little ‘danger’ in the city? I can tell you it’s a lot safer than these seas.”

  “Before running I never found the sea frightening. I loved it out there. Still do, but it’s different now.”

  “You’re a girl with a lot on her shoulders. Let me show you another side of life. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

  She looked at his high-boned face and into his eager eyes. In some ways he seemed more innocent than her. Innocent in that he didn’t know that he could hurt someone. Was this just another game for him, another way of entertaining himself? Maybe he was hanging out with a local girl to go along with running the rum. Maybe it was another way of showing he wasn’t his father’s son. Was it a bit of rebellion that he longed to taste, just for the difference in flavor? Did he have any idea what his attentions had done to her?

  “Please say yes, or I’ll die and scare away all the fish,” he said.

  She gulped. “I need to know . . .” Her mouth had gone dry, and her voice had simmered down to a whisper. “I need to know . . . what you’re doing here with me.”

  She waited as if life and death lay within his words. A flippant answer would lead her to despair, whereas a sweet one would slide her to a place she had never swum before.

  He stood completely still as the onshore breeze ruffled the waves of his hair and the light of the moon caught in the cups of his curls.

  He eased out his words. “I suppose I could say that you deserve a night of fun, that you deserve to get away from all this for once. But that’s not what you’re asking, is it, Frieda?”

  His face was close and clear. Very close. She studied the tightly woven fabric of his shirt collar and shook her head.

  “Look at me.”

  She did.

  “I’m just a guy like any other out here. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s true. I’ve stumbled upon a girl who interests me. So there it is.” He spoke with a soft surety that moved her. “I’m fascinated by you.”

  He touched her face with his fingertips along her jawline, light as feathers. Frieda froze from a combination of fear and yearning. He moved his fingers to her lips, and he pressed them gently, as if kissing her with his touch. She stood on the edge of the unknown, and in that moment she didn’t care if he meant one iota of what he said. Her heart was fluttering, and her will was lost, lost, lost. He moved to her neck, where her pulse throbbed, and then down, where breaths could scarcely pass.

  The planet clicked just a tiny notch on its axis, but her world did a somersault. Perhaps her surrender had always been inevitable.

  The next day she pulled out Bea’s dresses after bathing with some of Bea’s lavender-scented soap. Wrapped in a towel, she perused the dresses that Bea had bought from sales racks.

  “What are you doing?” Bea said as she made the bed. The two girls had already helped Silver out to the porch and fed him his breakfast. It was the nurse’s day off, and Bea was dressed in a simple cotton dress for cleaning, cooking, and washing.

  Frieda said, “I have a date.”

  Bea’s eyes flashed. “You? A date?” A knowing smile then. “I bet it’s Hicks.”

  Earlier that day, when Frieda went to the grocer’s she’d seen Hicks, and he gave her a hopeful, friendly wave. Unreasonable guilt had filled her for a moment. “It’s not Hicks.”

  “You’re kidding. Then who is the mystery man?”

  Frieda was not in the mood to banter back and forth with her sister. Her movements were slow and measured, and Bea must have sensed the change. Bea sat down on the bed, crossed her legs delicately at the ankles, and said nothing more.

  After a few minutes of watching Frieda look through the dresses, Bea finally said, “I know the one.” She got up and selected a sleeveless, dark-blue sheath dress with a low waistline, scalloped neckline, and flowing fabric that fell to midcalf. She held it out to Frieda.

  “It’s n
ew, the latest. It’s simple, understated, and it moves like silk, although of course it’s not the real thing.”

  Frieda donned one of Bea’s slips and then slid into the dress. She sat on the edge of the bed, and Bea began to work her fingers through her sister’s still-wet and tangled hair. “Now . . . what are we going to do with this?” she asked.

  Frieda shook her head.

  Bea pulled a comb through Frieda’s hair. “Who is it?” she finally asked.

  “I thought you would’ve heard by now.”

  Bea shrugged. “Yes, I’ve heard some things. I can’t believe it. You of all people.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve never liked anyone with money.”

  “It has nothing to do with his money! How dare you think that of me?” Frieda retorted. “Besides, I’ve never really known anyone with money before.”

  Bea sighed. “True enough. But I’m the one who has given even the hill people a chance. Never you.”

  “I’ve been wrong. Maybe I’ve been blind to the fact that rich people can be nice.”

  “Says you?!” Bea exclaimed. “What kind of gibberish is spewing forth from my cynical sister’s mouth?”

  Frieda held still and pulled in a ragged breath, closing her eyes. Because the work Frieda did was tawdry, she maintained truthfulness in the other aspects of her life. Maybe it would make up for rumrunning.

  “I never expected to like him.”

  Bea worked out some tangles. “How can you like someone who’s running for no reason? Not even getting paid for it. Has it occurred to you that he could be crazy?”

  “He isn’t.”

  “Then what?”

  Frieda heard the not-so-subtle message. True, Princeton was doing some odd things—including courting her, it seemed. And maybe people doubted his sanity for that reason more than anything else.

  “I understand what you’re saying, and it does seem crazy . . . On the other hand, I’ve gotten to know him a bit, and his life is . . . complicated, too. It’s not as simple as it seems. But you know me, Bea. You know it has nothing to do with his money.”