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Hunkering down beside the bunk, watching to see that no one was looking, Maria pulled her violin case back onto her lap. Then reaching upward, she pulled a tarnished chain from around her neck to remove a small, square key from it.
Again watching around her, she hurriedly unlocked her violin case with this key, then looked downward onto her highly varnished instrument that lay in silence on its soft bed of crimson velvet. She so wanted to pluck the strings that were stretched tautly across their bridge, but was afraid that to do so would be to draw more.attention to her and what she so desperately had to get hidden.
With the swiftness of her long, lean fingers, she placed the money and tickets in a small pouch at the inside far end of the case, hiding these snugly beneath packages of extra violin strings and a square cake of rosin.
“There. That should do it,” she sighed quietly to herself, then drew in a quick breath when a dark shadow fell over her and her violin.
Hurriedly covering the pouch with her hands, she looked upward into a man's face that was framed by hair that was more golden than rays from an afternoon sun. Their gazes then met, making Maria's body become as a thousand heartbeats. The color of this man's eyes was blue … as blue as'the deepest waters of the ocean. He was so unlike anyone she had yet to meet, accustomed as she was to the Italians’ dark eyes and hair. He had to be American. Wasn't he dressed as an American, in his ruffled, white shirt, dark waistcoat and tight-fitted breeches?
“I caught sight of your violin when you raised the lid of your case,” he said, stooping, openly admiring the instrument. With a quick flick of the wrist, he had plucked each of the strings. “Hmm. A beautiful tone. Do you play?”
Pulling the brim of her hat to hide her eyes, Maria sat as though in a spell, afraid to speak, knowing that this man would most definitely be able to tell by the pitch of her voice that she was indeed female. She quickly shook her head back and forth, hoping that to be answer enough.
A deep laugh surfaced from the man, causing Maria's eyes to move upward again. She could see amusement in the half smile playing on his lips and wondered if he had already guessed what was behind her silence. His clean-shaven face and the gentleness to the curve of his jaw made her want to trust him. And didn't she have a need for excitement. . . the same as Alberto? Even now, she felt strange stirrings inside herself, a strangeness she hadn't ever experienced before. Was it because this man of blue eyes kept watching her with a smile so gentle? Why . . . was he even flirting with her? Had he truly guessed that she was a female? “So you don't speak English?” he said, squatting down more closely beside her, so close even, she could sniff the aromas of a man's expensive cologne and richness of cigars. And his clothes were clean … and dry . . . which had to mean that he had possession of a cabin for this long voyage to America.
Shutting the lid to her violin case, she shook her head in affirmation, then locked the case with her key.
Another deep rumble surfaced from inside this man's chest. “Who are you trying to fool?” he laughed, pulling a half-smoked cigar from an inside pocket. He lit it and inhaled deeply. “If you couldn't speak English, how could you even know to answer my questions with the nod of your head?”
Maria's face reddened as she jumped to her feet. She searched for Alberto and found him deeply engrossed in his new card game. What was she to do? This stranger was going to discover her true identity. She just knew it. She tried to pull the chain that held her key over her hat and gasped openly when the hat went tumbling to the deck. She bent to grab it, but knew that she was too late. Her hair was tumbling loosely now around both her face and shoulders.
“Well, I'll be damned,” the man said thickly, rising, catching her in his arms as she stumbled sideways. “I was right. You are a female. Why in hell are you dressed in such a way?” he blurted, tossing his cigar aside, to hold her at arm's length. His eyes traveled over her, seeing the darkness of her eyes, sheltered by thick, long lashes. Her lips were sensuously full, trembling now, from noticeable fear, and he saw this slight birthmark of a strawberry color on the slight dimple of her right cheek. That damn hat had hidden much from his eyes.
His gaze lowered, seeing now the swell of her bosom, as it heaved in and out with each breath taken. Now that she was standing with a straightened back, there was no disguising what God had so blessed her with. And then there were the trousers. “Why, I've never seen a woman wear trousers before,” he quickly added, thinking her to be so stately tall and shatteringly pretty. He felt the heat rising in his loins, knowing that he had to have a taste of what lay hidden beneath the dark, soiled clothes. Beneath those clothes, there was a woman, a woman pulsating with womanly desires. He could almost smell the animal needs of them both . .. intermingling with the sharp sea air, whining around them. But wasn't she one of the unfortunate immigrants headed for the disillusionment of the coal mines of America? Nathan Hawkins's coal mines? Should he risk min
gling with her? What if she found out who he was? Would it interfere with his mission .. .”?
“Please let me go,” she said, begging with her eyes, then searching around her again for Alberto, but feeling a slow death rising inside her when she realized that Alberto was now in another world, a world of gambling…. Hadn't she only moments ago, before her encounter with this stranger, heard some women whispering of this card game they called gambling . . . and how it was the devil himself .. . luring decent men into a wickedness they could no longer say no to?
“Again I ask you,” the man persisted. “Why are you dressed in such a way? Do you not own anything more fashionable? Like even a dress?”
“Sir, I shall dress in any which way I see fit,” she hissed, knowing that she now had to take command of the situation. Alberto had betrayed her. He had chosen a game of cards . . . over her. . . .
“You're beautiful, even in such garments as these,” the man said, freeing her, now realizing that no matter what, he had to have her. “But aren't you cold? I see how wet you are since the storm. Might you want to follow me to my cabin? I have a small stove with a soft fire burning inside it. Might you want to join me?”
With wavering eyes, Maria studied him more carefully, feeling an increased pulsebeat in her throat. He was even taller than Alberto, but not any more gifted with shoulders than her brother. And wasn't this man so very persuasive in his smooth way of speaking? And yes, she was cold. She was hungry. If he had his own cabin, surely he also had some nourishment to share with her.
She gazed toward Alberto once again, seeing his lack of interest in her, then set her jaw firmly. “And what might your name be, sir?” she asked, with her chin tilted upward.
“Michael Hopper,” he answered, feeling hope rising inside himself. He didn't want to have am> part of those riverfront whores who traveled these ships . . . making their fortune from the gambling fools. No. He wanted a female who appeared not to lie with each man who asked her. He was afraid of diseases. He eyed Maria once again. True, her clothes were dirty . . . but her skin was shining clean, and he guessed that the clothes were a planned decoy… to keep men from taking advantage of her.
And the violin? Was she a trained musician, searching for a place to show her skills, knowing that America was a land of opportunity?
“Michael Hopper,” he added again, offering her an arm. “Michael Hopper at your service, ma'am.”
She took her violin case by the handle with her free hand and draped her other arm through Michael's. “Maria Lazzaro, to you, sir,” she stated flatly, feeling secure now with what she was doing. She could fend for herself. She was no longer a child, whimpering by a brother's side. She was a woman desired by a well-dressed American. No. She was no longer afraid. The warning of being seduced was quickly brushed from her thoughts. . . .
Letting her hair blow loosely in the wind, she followed alongside Michael, feeling eyes on her watching her every move. She laughed to herself, knowing what a pair she and Michael made .. . she with her soiled chimney sweep costume, and he with his impeccable, freshly pressed outfit.
Whisperings followed along behind them as women moved together in clusters around one small stove in the center of the deck. The aromas of grease heating and raw salmon waiting to be fried clung to Maria as she moved on away, hoping that maybe this one evening she would be offered more than fish and potatoes for supper.
“Maria is a lovely name,” Michael said, as he guided her toward a door that led downward, below deck. “It fits you, you know.”
“You really think so?”
“Yes, I do,” he answered, then eyed the violin case. “And do you carry that with you everywhere you go?”
Maria clutched more tightly to the handle. “Almost,” she said softly.
