Cape Cod Noir - By David L Ulin Page 0,20
we dine with has many problems that keep him—repeatedly—from paying Mr. Browne. I admire your ability to understand people. And I know Mr. Browne does.”
“I am happy to help,” she said.
“Tomorrow evening, then. Across the harbor, the old tavern on Great Island.” Seaver flashed a brief, broken smile, no more warm than it was lovely, and settled back to doze.
I’ll help, this one last time, she thought. Then we’re done. I’ll be my own woman, with the man I’ve always loved, and I’ll have no more of you.
She arrived at the shack after dark, her heart aloft. She carried a large jug filled with rum, and it swung heavily against her skirts. She tapped lightly on the door, and let herself in.
Bram was on her in an instant, sweeping up high, so her gown brushed the narrow walls and her hair grazed the ceiling. He stumbled, his boot causing a clank of glass bottles rolling on the tamped earth floor, and overturned the candle that lit the small room.
“Anna, Anna, ’tis the very fates bring us together now.” He set her down and restored the candle carefully, with a kind of reverence, then kissed her wrists.
She found herself eager for him. With her husband, intercourse had been the price for protection. There had been no one since him, really, and she’d long ago forgotten the act might be for other than bargaining.
Later, he sighed. “You’re the only one who’s ever understood. No other man or woman could see me for what I am.”
“Surely there’ve been others who’ve recognized your qualities.”
“Never. Every time, every place, I found nothing but louts, ignorance, a desire for the mediocre. No appreciation for artistry.”
“Such brilliance, to be ignored!” She put her hand on his shoulder, suppressing a smile. “They little knew they abused a lord among smiths!”
He pinched her hand playfully. “You mock me, I fear.”
“I don’t! I know the excellence of your hinges and bolts.”
“I am Vulcan! My hammer and tongs forge miracles! The coals and heat are quick to obey me!” He laughed with her. “Drink to me now, my love!”
Tilting the jug to Anna’s mouth, he sloshed the liquor over her lips. The dark spirits ran over her chin, sharp, sweet, and sticky. With his tongue, Bram traced its path across her jaw, and down her throat, burying his face in the lace at the top of her gown.
Anna shifted under him, trying to find a comfortable spot on the lumpy pallet. She sighed with happiness, intoxicated with love.
They woke in each other’s arms. Bram rolled over, cradled his head, moaning, but made a brave show of it when Anna looked at him.
“It’s nothing. A pounding head is a small price to pay for such a reunion.”
“We’ll be in Boston in two days,” she said. The hopefulness that attended the thought was a sensation virtually forgotten since he’d left so abruptly five years ago. “I’ll set you up there in a shop of your own.”
He nodded eagerly. “It will be good to be back where I belong, back among the embers, bending metal to my will.” He hesitated. “Anywhere else but Boston, though. I have enemies there.”
“How so?” she said, smiling. “It’s not possible. An age since you left, and all unpleasantness long forgotten, I’m sure.”
“Alas, my former master—in title only!”
“Who is this man? I’ll have him run out of town.” She was proud to realize she had some influence now, a way to solve his problems for him.
“Bah, a bully of the first order, and he is dead, thank God. But his cousin, the one who threatened me, has a long memory. A sod the name of—Owen? Oliver. Oliver Browne.”
Anna’s heart seemed to stop beating for a long moment, before it resumed with a painful thump.
“But it is no matter,” he continued. “We can go anywhere else, and be happy.”
She thought again of her tavern. Must she choose between the Queen and Bram? There was nothing to be gained by asking aloud. Anna nodded, smiled, and dressed, and with a heavy soul and a newly aching head, she made sure no one was about as she slipped away to her room.
Had Samuel Stratton walked into the Queen’s Arms, Anna would have nodded welcome, as to anyone else, and offered him one of the better chairs. Then she would have signaled her man, Josiah Ball, who handled the heavy lifting and peacemaking. He would address the more volatile regulars, finding pretext to send them home. She would go about her business, pausing