An Unlikely Love. Dorothy ClarkЧитать онлайн книгу.
pond and slid into the cold water. Fortunately, he’d instinctively pushed hard when his feet hit the stony bottom. A grin slanted his lips. That push combined with the frantic flailing of his arms and legs had brought him back up to the top of the water where he could gasp in air. He’d stretched his arm out in an effort to reach the bank, kicked his feet and stretched out his other arm trying to get closer, and suddenly he was swimming on top of the water instead of sinking to the bottom. Of course, the pond was shallow at that end. Not more than five feet deep even during a spring runoff. Things would have ended differently had he fallen in the deep end.
His grin faded. He’d not thought about that before. He’d best fence that pond if he ever married and had children of his own. He straightened and moved down the railing, leaned against a post and watched the lights of Mayville disappear as the steamer rounded the outcropping. His mother and father were eager for him to marry and produce an heir. Being an only child had its responsibilities—a fact that they pointed out to him more and more frequently of late. It wasn’t that he had any objections to being married. He wanted a wife and family the same as any man. He just hadn’t met a woman he’d found interesting enough to hold his attention. Although Miss Bradley was definitely intriguing. And she was a “miss.” She hadn’t corrected him when he addressed her as such. And she hadn’t simpered about it, either. He hated that coy behavior.
Muted laughter and voices drifted his way from the crowded passenger lounge at his back. He wiped the rain from his face, stepped over into the silence by the side railing and slid his gaze toward the front of the steamer. She was still there. A dark silhouette against the flickering, rain-streaked light of one of the ship’s lanterns.
Miss Bradley was different all right. He wasn’t accustomed to a young woman dismissing him from her presence. And he’d never known any woman who shunned society for solitude. Or one who didn’t hurry inside as quickly as possible when it rained. So why was she standing out in the chilly, rainy night alone? And what had caused the sadness he’d seen in her eyes? Her lovely blue eyes.
The steamer cleared the outcropping. Pinpricks of light flickered against the darkness ahead. He pushed back the edges of his mackintosh, shoved his hands in his trousers pockets and leaned back against a post studying the shifting pattern of lights. He’d intended to find out the schedule and attend only the science classes at the Chautauqua Assembly in the hope of finding a way to increase yield at the vineyard. But that was before his chance encounter with the intriguing Miss Bradley. Now he would come to Fair Point as often as he could get away from the vineyard. Foolishness perhaps; the assembly would last for only two weeks. But that would give him time enough to find out the answers to those questions.
A ship’s whistle floated through the dark, rainy night. Bells pealed. Tiny lights danced on the water, approached the docking area miles ahead at Fair Point. A frown tugged his brow down. Another steamer was bringing a couple hundred or more attendees to the Chautauqua campgrounds from the other end of the lake. The swarm of people would make finding Miss Bradley difficult. But he liked a challenge...
* * *
Marissa stared at the lights gleaming along the shore and peeking through the trees on the hill. The assembly was much larger than she’d imagined. “Oh, my! There are so many lights they look like a swarm of fireflies.”
“And I should think most of those who will be attending the assembly have not yet arrived.” The young woman crowding against the railing on her left smiled and tilted the umbrella she held against the changing direction of the wind. “I know some are staying at the hotels in Mayville. They don’t care to live at the camp. And I’m certain there are many others who will live in their accustomed comfort and only attend daily—when they so choose. My aunt is numbered among them. As for me, the next two weeks should be very exciting. I’ve never spent time in the woods. And with all the meetings and entertainments—”
The steamer’s whistle drowned out the young woman’s voice. Bells ashore pealed out an answer to the ship’s signal. The steamer lurched, slowed. Water slapped against the side then rolled off to wash up onshore. They came to a full stop.
“We’ve arrived! I must find my cousin.” The young woman spun about and joined the other passengers.
The deck seethed with people clutching their bags and umbrellas and jockeying for position in the line to disembark. She pulled her small dangling purse into her hand and pressed back against the side railing to wait for the crush of people to thin.
Shouts came from all directions. Crew members jumped to the dock, caught ropes that were thrown to them from aboard the ship and wrapped them around thick posts. The disembarking plank hit the dock with a thud.
“All ashore for Fair Point and for the Chautauqua Assembly!”
The hum of conversation aboard ship died. People pressed forward, umbrellas bumping. Farther down the deck, crew members hefted trunks onto their shoulders and carried them ashore. Hers was riding on the beefy shoulder of a man twice as broad as the plank they trod. She held her breath when the plank sagged beneath the man’s weight and hoped her trunk didn’t leak.
“Come along, miss.”
A deckhand motioned her forward. She tugged her hood farther down over her forehead and stepped into the line at the top of the wide gangway. Lantern light from posts at the end of the dock shone on the water between the steamer and the shore. It looked deep. Rain pocked the dark surface, danced on the plank and the dock. Was the plank slippery? An image of her sliding off the side into that dark water flashed into her head. She frowned and moved forward with the line, grateful she’d worn her boots instead of packing them. The couple in front of her stepped onto the gangway. She was next. She clenched her fingers about her purse and wished for a railing to hold on to.
“We meet again, Miss Bradley.”
Grant Winston smiled and moved away from the steamer’s railing, stepped into line beside her. Had he been waiting there for her? Such forwardness was unacceptable. But she was too grateful for his strong, solid presence to demur. She nodded and moved onto the wide gangway, her steps steadier and less timid because he walked beside her.
“Those with admittance passes go to the line on my right please. Those without passes go to the line on my left.”
She lifted her gaze beyond the man standing in the center of the dock a short distance ahead directing passengers. A small shingled building stood at the far end of the weathered boards, the lanterns hanging from hooks on the small structure illuminating the two lines flowing toward open gates at each side. The dark tree-covered hill sprinkled with lights rose a short way beyond. Her stomach flopped. How was she to find her way? Unless...She drew her gaze back, hoping. “I’m to be on the right, Mr. Winston.”
“And I on the left. I’ve decided to purchase a pass for the full two weeks.” He smiled and bowed her across in front of him, stepped into the other line.
Her hope flickered then steadied. Perhaps Mr. Winston would find her again when they had both cleared the gates. She swallowed her trepidation, extracted her speaking invitation with its attached pass of admittance from her purse and followed those ahead of her to the gatehouse.
“Next, please.”
A quick glance to her left showed Grant Winston’s line was moving much slower. The prospect of receiving any help from him vanished. She stepped up to the side window and handed her invitation to the man inside the small house.
“Ah, you are one of our speakers. It’s good to have you with us, Miss Bradley.” The bearded man smiled and motioned behind him. “Mr. Johnson will show you to the accommodations for teachers and speakers. Tell him about your baggage.”
“Thank you.” She breathed a sigh of relief as he waved her through the gate, then paused as a man garbed in a black waterproof with a piece of blanket draped over his shoulder stepped forward.
“Mr. Johnson at your service, Miss Bradley. Have you any baggage?”
She nodded, scanned the piles of trunks. “That alligator, camelback Saratoga sitting on top of the near pile is mine.”