Rapture's Rendezvous

Michael ran his fingers through his hair, frowning. “If you insist on moving topside, let's go about it in a civilized manner,” he said thickly. “Let me get assis-tance to help get your belongings moved. You will need your bunk and all the heavy blankets you can get. I'll see to it that you have the best.”

“We don't need any more of your help,” Alberto stormed. “You already tried to take payment by touching my sister and kissing her.”

“I don't need payment for anything,” Michael said flatly. He moved toward the door, ignoring Alberto's further accusations. “I'll go topside and make all the arrangements. We have to do what's best for Maria, Alberto. Whether or not you believe I'm doing it for her.”

When Michael disappeared out into the passageway, Maria went to Alberto and glared upward into his face. “Oh, Alberto,” she cried. “How could you? Michael didn't mean us any harm.”

“I watched as he started to kiss you,” he said, glowering.

“It is I who made the first advance,” she said, tilting her chin up into the air, then walked on out into the passageway in her soiled chimney sweep costume, carrying her violin case with her.

Alberto's face drained of color. “Surely I heard wrong,” he murmured to himself. “Maria wouldn't say such a thing. My Maria? My sweet, innocent Maria… ?”

He moved on out into the passageway himself, tensing when he passed the spot where he had been left to die. He hurried along, still wondering about his sister. . . .

Chapter Five

Two more days at sea and America's shores would be reached. Maria lay crouched beneath a heavy layer of blankets watching Alberto. He appeared to be asleep, but she didn't want to take a chance that he might see her sneak to Michael's cabin. She would have to wait a bit longer. But she did have to see Michael this night. If not, she might never be able to feel his arms around her again. America was a vast land. She had no idea where this Saint Louis was, where Michael had said he was going. She tensed, seeing a movement on Alberto's bunk. Though it was dark, she just knew that she had seen him reach down and pull a boot on! Where did he think he was going? He had stayed close to her since having left Michael's cabin. But he had been acting strangely, all the while keeping his face hidden from the card players as he continued to watch them. Surely he wouldn't. . . .

Alberto looked slowly around him, making sure no one was witnessing his preparations for his departure from his bunk. So far, no one had paid any attention to him. And now that his beard was fully grown, he was ready to make his move. Just thinking about holding the cards in his hands again made his heart pound. And then what he had planned to do later made his blood surge wildly with delight. He would show them. Sam and Grace would wish they had never even met him.

Eyeing Maria closely, Alberto smiled to himself. She was most assuredly asleep. She would never miss him. He pulled the last of their money from his breeches pocket and stacked it neatly in the palm of his right hand. He would make this back double, he mused to himself. Maria would never know. . . .

Tears burned at the corners of Maria's eyes, watching Alberto move from the bunk and head toward the dim lighting of a whale oil lamp, beneath which huddled the usual group of men playing poker. Through her mist of tears, she watched as Alberto settled onto the deck, now one of the men who played the devil's game. Cigar smoke circled upward and all eyes turned to Alberto, silently studying him for a second, then fell back to playing, mouthing crude obscenities as each card turned up in each of their hands.

Maria had wanted to reach out and stop Alberto, remembering what had happened to him before, but her inner tormented feelings of need for Michael had urged her to remain silent, pretending to be asleep. She knew that if Alberto was busy playing cards, he wouldn't see her leave for Michael's cabin. Yes, it was a perfect cover. And, for some unknown reason, Maria felt that Alberto just had to know what he was doing. For it was he who had taken the beating, and he would surely have devised a way to keep this from happening again.

She sighed to herself. She hated to admit it, but she even felt relieved to be away from Alberto's side for a while. Since his personality change, he had been most unpleasant to have as a companion. She had to hope that once they reached their Papa's home, Alberto would return to his old self and be just as lovable as before.

Pushing her blanket aside, Maria crept from the bunk, still attired in her hated chimney sweep costume and drab, dark shoes, and began to walk cautiously across the deck flooring. She barely breathed as she moved toward the door that led below deck, all the while watching Alberto. But he was already absorbed in the card game. He wouldn't see, or miss her, for hours.

Fear made shivers ride her spine as Maria moved down the steps, seeing the semidarkness of the long passageway that led to Michael's cabin. She knew that she was foolish, not having warned Michael of her plans to be with him. He could have met her. Protected her. But she hadn't known the true time that she could have left the bunk. She would just have to keep quiet so no one in any of the other cabins would hear her approach.

Noises from all sides of her made her cringe. They were as before. Gigglings from loose women who were paid to share their bodies with any man who asked, and the drunken, rowdy laughter from sailors who had finished with their duties for the night.

Hugging her arms tightly around her, Maria hurried to Michael's door and tapped lightly. In only a matter of moments, she would be with him. He would again teach her the mysteries of life and in the most sensuous of ways.

She tensed when he did not answer. A terrible thought seized her. What if Michael had paid for the services of one of these . . . wenches . . . ? She tapped more noisily, looking around her, trembling. If he didn't open the door soon, someone else on either side of her might, and then what?

The door jerked open quickly, revealing a half-drunken Michael to Maria. “Michael?” she whispered, seeing his hair all tousled in layers of gold. And even though there was only a dim lighting, she could see swollen mounds beneath his eyes and the red streaks that surrounded the blue of his eyes.

“Maria?” he said in a thick speech, almost teetering.

She eyed him once again. He wore the night robe that was so familiar to her and it gaped open in front, revealing that he wore nothing beneath it. Her face reddened when she caught sight of his manhood. It wasn't in a state of arousal and even looked funny as it hung so loosely from his light-colored patch of pubic hair. She would always be amazed at how something so tiny could grow to such proportions to give her such pleasure. Tremors of passionate lust raced through her, making her move on inside the cabin.

When she heard the cabin door shut and the bolt lock slide in position, she turned and waited to see what Michael would do next. She had never been around an intoxicated man before. And she hated seeing Michael in this state. Especially when she had expected so much more from him this night. She tensed when she saw him reach for the wine bottle and pour himself another drink.

Taking a large swallow, Michael began'to walk around Maria, eyeing her questioningly. “And how did you manage to get away from that damn brother of yours?” he asked darkly.

“I did manage. That's ail that's important,” she said softly. “You are glad to see me, aren't you?” she quickly added, wanting to reach up and touch him, even cling to him.

“But what if he realizes you are gone?” Michael continued, taking another large swallow, burping noisily as he placed the empty glass down on a table.

“He won't,” she said flatly.

“And how can you be so sure?”

“He's playing that card game again,” she answered, lowering her eyes.