“Thank you so much,” Regan said, pleased more than the women could know, there being no way of telling them that they were her first friends.
That night she lay awake in Travis’s arms, looking at him in the moonlight. She wished he hadn’t come to mean so much to her, that she could hate him as she had once done or even find him contemptible, but now all she felt was an overwhelming loneliness that she was losing so much—this big, overpowering man whom she’d come to depend on, as well as other women who considered her a friend, who didn’t think she was useless.
By the next morning she was deathly quiet. Doing her best to smile, she stood on the quarterdeck and waved goodbye to her friends, all of them glad to be off the ship, excited about coming home or entering a new land.
Travis had left her alone while he ordered the unloading of goods. When she’d awakened this morning, after sleeping very late, she’d found the ship already docked and some people already disembarked. After a quick kiss, Travis said he’d be busy until afternoon, explaining that the storm had blown them closer to America, and since they were several days earlier than expected no one was there to meet them.
Them! Regan thought with disgust as she watched Travis ordering some sailors in the stacking of crates.
“Mrs. Stanford?”
Turning toward the timid voice, she saw David Wainwright behind her. He looked thinner than she remembered, and his eyes darted to gaze at a space somewhere to the left of her head.
“I want to wish you and your husband the best of everything,” he said quietly.
“Thank you,” she said. His face showed all of the fear she felt, and she only hoped hers didn’t look the same. “I hope we both like America more than we thought we would.”
He wouldn’t take her hint at the conversations they’d once shared; his embarrassment was too deep. “Tell your husband….” He didn’t seem able to finish but grabbed her hand, placed a hard kiss on it, met her eyes for a moment, gasped “Goodbye,” and then was gone, hurrying down the gangplank.
Warmed by David’s sentiments, she leaned over the rail and saw Travis frowning up at her. Raising her hand, she waved gaily at him and thought for the first time that perhaps she could make it alone in this new country. After all, she’d made friends on board ship. Perhaps….
Travis gave her no more time to think, because minutes later he was telling her to hurry up and eat, to wear something sturdy, to finish putting her clothes in the t
runk—in general, running her life.
He couldn’t wait to get rid of her, she thought, obeying him but with a slowness Travis found maddening.
“Either you finish that in two minutes or I carry you out of here,” he warned. “I have a wagon waiting for us, and I’d like to get there before sundown.”
Her curiosity won out over her resentment. “Where are we going? Did…did you find me employment?”
Pausing, the trunk across his back, Travis grinned at her. “I found you a great job! One you’re especially good at. Now, come on, let’s go.”
Using all her strength, Regan tried not to let his words upset her but followed him down the gangplank, her head held high.
He tossed the trunk into the ugliest, most dilapidated vehicle she’d ever seen.
“Sorry,” he laughed at her obvious disgust. “I told you we were early, and this was all I could get. We’re driving to a friend of mine’s tonight, and tomorrow I’ll borrow a sloop.”
Nothing Travis said made sense to Regan. She knew a sloop was some sort of ship but didn’t have any idea why Travis would want to borrow one. Grabbing her waist and plunking her down on the half-rotten wagon seat with as much ceremony as he’d used with the trunk, he climbed up beside her and clucked for the two tired-looking horses to go.
The country they traveled through looked wilder, more forbidding than England, and the road was atrocious, really little more than a rutted path. As her jarring teeth attested, Travis hit all of the ruts.
Chuckling, he watched her. “Now you see why we travel mostly by water. Tomorrow we’ll be in a smooth little sloop, with no holes to fall into.”
She had no idea where she’d be tomorrow as Travis seemed to want to keep her employer a secret—and she wasn’t about to ask him for details, not when she knew her questions would earn that infuriating look of his.
The sun was just setting when they stopped at the first house they saw—a neat, clean, whitewashed little clapboard. Early spring flowers graced the front path, a warm breeze gently bending the colorful petals. It was a plain house but certainly of a higher caliber than Regan had expected in America.
Travis’s knock was answered by a plump, gray-haired woman wearing a calico apron over her muslin dress. “Travis,” she said. “We thought something was wrong. The man you sent said you’d be here hours earlier.”
“Hello, Martha,” he said, kissing her cheek. “It just took us longer than I thought. The Judge here?”
Martha laughed. “You’re as impatient as ever. I take it this is the young lady.”
Possessively, Travis put his arm around Regan. “This is Regan, and this is Martha.”
Gulping once at Travis’s crude manners, Regan held out her hand. “I am happy to meet you, Mrs.—?”