“I know all aboutGood Housekeeping,” Annabelle said. The magazine had already begun an informal partnership with the Department of Agriculture to bring attention to the problem of tainted foods.
Caroline’s demeanor remained glacially cold as she continued. “Gray is under the mistaken impression that it ismenwho will sound the alarm about the Magruders’ foul tactics. I disagree. I think we need the Mrs. Sharpes of the world. And the homemakers and the mothers.” Her nose wrinkled. “Even the farmer’s daughter from Kansas. Mrs. Sharpe is also from Kansas. Between that and your connection to the Department of Agriculture, you can get your foot in the door atGood Housekeeping.”
If she could do something to help Gray, she wouldn’t hesitate. “How can I help?”
“Gray is sailing thePelicanto Boston, where he will launch the attack,” Caroline said. “I want you to be on that ship.”
Annabelle recoiled at the suggestion. “You want me to drop everything and run to Boston?” she asked in amazement.
“My work for the first lady means I am not at liberty to go. That leaves you.”
“No.” It was unthinkable. She had a life here, a job, Elaine....
“You owe us,” Caroline said, her voice as hard as iron. “Gray can’t make an impression onGood Housekeepingthe way you can. He’s fighting with one arm tied behind his back if all he does is appeal to political journalists. We need Mrs. Sharpe, and he doesn’t know how to talk to her.Good Housekeepingis the most prominent ladies’ magazine in the country, and it’s the logical place to launch this war.”
“This isn’t my battle,” Annabelle said. “I can’t go.”
Caroline moved in closer. “Gray says you’re patriotic. Clyde Magruder is running for Congress, where he will clear the path for chemically treated foods and devious business practices in the legislative infrastructure of this country. You can help stop him.”
“Gray will throw me off his ship.”
“He’llwantto, but he’s also a logical man who has the ability to see reason. He needs your help to make Luke’s plan succeed.”
The only thing Annabelle truly wanted from Gray was his forgiveness. He’d already rejected her words of apology, but what if sheshowedhim her desire to make amends?
Caroline outlined a plan to smuggle her aboard thePelicanand then get her toGood Housekeepingin nearby Springfield, Massachusetts, while Gray and Otis worked in Boston.
As Annabelle thought about it, more possibilities came to the fore. She could take the empty rice vials and persuade Otis to collect the samples in Madagascar. More importantly, she could serve as a neutral party in bringing the issue of the tainted applesauce toGood Housekeeping’s attention. As the owner of a rival company, Gray could never appear disinterested, but she could.
And although she didn’t want to admit it, a tiny part of her hoped the enforced proximity over the next week might give the wounds between her and Gray a chance to heal.
“When do I leave?” she asked.
It was barely light at six o’clock in the morning when Annabelle followed Caroline to thePelican. The ship would sail on the noon tide, but now was the best time to slip aboard without notice. Longshoremen scrambled to fuel the ship, and Annabelle watched the process in fascination. A conveyor belt with metal buckets, much like those used for lifting grain into silos, carried crates of coal up toward an opening on the side of thePelican. She’d never put much thought into how a ship was fueled, but it was fun to watch.
“Keep moving,” Caroline said impatiently, prodding Annabelle up the gangway leading into the ship.
It was dim inside and a little claustrophobic. Annabellecouldn’t see much beyond the skinny hallway that looked identical in both directions. The ceiling was so low that she could touch it if she stood on tiptoe, and she was short! Now that she was actually on board, doubts began to creep in, but she didn’t let them take root. Gray already despised her, so the only thing she stood to lose was a little dignity if the plan failed, and she could handle that.
“This way,” Caroline whispered, leading her down the passageway. Their footsteps seemed painfully loud in the metal hallway until they finally arrived at a wide doorway that opened into a huge, cavernous space. “This is one of the cargo holds,” Caroline explained. “It won’t be used for this trip, so it will be a safe place to hide until the ship is far out at sea.”
Annabelle peered inside. It could be a ballroom, if ballrooms had steel girders, a dank smell, and barely any light. Stacks of pallets and big wooden casks clustered in one corner, and her breathing sounded unnaturally loud in the metal room.
“Wait until dinnertime to come out,” Caroline advised. “It will be too late to turn back, and Gray will have to live with what we’ve done. A word of warning.” She pointed a finger in Annabelle’s face. “You are to keep your hands off my brother. Don’t get any ideas.”
That pointed finger rankled. “What if he doesn’t want to keep his hands off me?” Annabelle challenged.
“He will,” Caroline snapped. “You are anathema to him. He is a man of sound logic and reason, and he will accept your help in Boston, but other than that, you are to keep your distance.” She glanced around the cavernous interior one final time. “Make yourself at home,” she said before whirling around to leave.
The sound of the door closing echoed in the horribly empty hold.
As awful as Caroline could be, her absence was even worse. Caroline was confident and knowledgeable about this ship, while Annabelle was a country mouse who’d never been to sea.
She walked to the far side of the hold to sit down and lean against a barrel to wait. Athumpstartled her, but she smiled in relief at the sight of a snowy white cat that had pounced onto a pallet to look at her curiously.
“Hello, sweetie pie,” she whispered, holding out her fingers and letting the cat sniff her. A moment later the cat jumped onto her lap, and its weight was comforting as she listened to more loads of coal being dumped into the boiler room somewhere above her.
As the hours passed, more voices and footsteps could be heard boarding the ship. The noises seemed magnified in this steel monstrosity—slamming, thumping, and banging. Why did everything have to be made of metal? The rattling of chains and shouts of men were interspersed with hissing noises and what sounded like pressure valves releasing.
