he ever know unless he asked? If he didn't go after her now they may never meet again.
Although he had some business to go over with the secretary about his ship, he decided quickly that it could wait a few moments longer. Without hesitation, the man jumped to his feet and ran out the door and down the cobblestone lane, looking all around him as he did so for a glimpse of the girl, but having no success. How far could she have gone in just a few moments? Slowing his pace to a fast walk, he looked down both sides of the lane, but still she couldn't be seen.
He was just about to give up hope and head back to the office when he saw a green skirt, her green skirt, disappear around the corner.
"Miss! Miss!" he called after her, but she must not have known he was talking to her because she didn't turn around and continued walking quietly.
"Miss!" he cried louder.
She finally heard and stopped, turning to face him, "Yes?"
"I . . . er . . ." he stammered, not knowing what he'd meant to say to her, "I heard what you were saying at the Marina Office. I'm very sorry you weren't able to find room aboard one of the ships." That wasn't exactly what he'd hoped, but at least it served as an introduction.
"Oh, well, thanks," she replied unsurely, wondering why this strange man had stopped her just to say that.
"Your . . . er . . . your name is St. James, isn't it?"
She nodded, "It is."
"You wouldn't happen to have known a man by the name of Roy St. James, would you?"
"Why yes," Sara nodded, rather taken back, "He was my father, but he . . ."
" . . . but he died two years ago," the man finished for her, "Of scarlet fever. With his wife Amelia."
Sara's eyes widened, "How do you know all that?"
"I was a good friend of your father's. We went to school together. I, er . . . I've met you several times before, but it was so long ago I doubt you'll remember. You couldn't have been more than six or seven years old," said the man, holding out a hand, "My name is Charlie Wilkie."
Sara shook his hand, all the while taking in his appearance with a careful eye, trying to remember if she recalled meeting him as a child.
Obviously, if Charlie had gone to school with her father, they must be the same age. So Sara quickly concluded that he must have thirty-nine years behind him, or perhaps even forty. He stood quite tall at about six feet and was rather thin; the shabby clothing he wore hung loose on his small frame. He wore his hair a bit longer than most older men, but Sara figured he had a right to since he hadn't lost any of it yet. It was a light brown color, but streaked with silver strands and fell down on his forehead above eyes so green they sparkled like emeralds. But although his eyes were quite striking, Sara also thought they had a tired look about them. Rimmed in darkness, it was as if they hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before. Wrinkles were visible on his forehead and around his eyes, making him seem even older than he really was.
He dressed very casually, wearing a pair of wrinkled tan trousers, an old crimson sweater, a red plaid flannel shirt, rubber Wellies, and a wool newsboy cap. It was quite obvious to her from his clothing that he worked as a sailor rather than a lawyer or a businessman. For a man of those professions would certainly not spend his afternoons at marinas walking around in dirty rainboots and shabby sweaters.
"I believe I remember seeing you at least once before," said Sara after a moment of running through her memory, "You were a sailor, right?"
Charlie nodded, "I'm surprised you remember. I'm still one actually. Own my own ship. That's why I was at the marina. I have to pay if I want to dock my ship here for a few days."
"I see."
"So how are you and your sisters doing? Let's see if I can remember you all, there was Mary, looked just like your mother, and Sara, who always had her nose in a book, Nora, who could
Although he had some business to go over with the secretary about his ship, he decided quickly that it could wait a few moments longer. Without hesitation, the man jumped to his feet and ran out the door and down the cobblestone lane, looking all around him as he did so for a glimpse of the girl, but having no success. How far could she have gone in just a few moments? Slowing his pace to a fast walk, he looked down both sides of the lane, but still she couldn't be seen.
He was just about to give up hope and head back to the office when he saw a green skirt, her green skirt, disappear around the corner.
"Miss! Miss!" he called after her, but she must not have known he was talking to her because she didn't turn around and continued walking quietly.
"Miss!" he cried louder.
She finally heard and stopped, turning to face him, "Yes?"
"I . . . er . . ." he stammered, not knowing what he'd meant to say to her, "I heard what you were saying at the Marina Office. I'm very sorry you weren't able to find room aboard one of the ships." That wasn't exactly what he'd hoped, but at least it served as an introduction.
"Oh, well, thanks," she replied unsurely, wondering why this strange man had stopped her just to say that.
"Your . . . er . . . your name is St. James, isn't it?"
She nodded, "It is."
"You wouldn't happen to have known a man by the name of Roy St. James, would you?"
"Why yes," Sara nodded, rather taken back, "He was my father, but he . . ."
" . . . but he died two years ago," the man finished for her, "Of scarlet fever. With his wife Amelia."
Sara's eyes widened, "How do you know all that?"
"I was a good friend of your father's. We went to school together. I, er . . . I've met you several times before, but it was so long ago I doubt you'll remember. You couldn't have been more than six or seven years old," said the man, holding out a hand, "My name is Charlie Wilkie."
Sara shook his hand, all the while taking in his appearance with a careful eye, trying to remember if she recalled meeting him as a child.
Obviously, if Charlie had gone to school with her father, they must be the same age. So Sara quickly concluded that he must have thirty-nine years behind him, or perhaps even forty. He stood quite tall at about six feet and was rather thin; the shabby clothing he wore hung loose on his small frame. He wore his hair a bit longer than most older men, but Sara figured he had a right to since he hadn't lost any of it yet. It was a light brown color, but streaked with silver strands and fell down on his forehead above eyes so green they sparkled like emeralds. But although his eyes were quite striking, Sara also thought they had a tired look about them. Rimmed in darkness, it was as if they hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before. Wrinkles were visible on his forehead and around his eyes, making him seem even older than he really was.
He dressed very casually, wearing a pair of wrinkled tan trousers, an old crimson sweater, a red plaid flannel shirt, rubber Wellies, and a wool newsboy cap. It was quite obvious to her from his clothing that he worked as a sailor rather than a lawyer or a businessman. For a man of those professions would certainly not spend his afternoons at marinas walking around in dirty rainboots and shabby sweaters.
"I believe I remember seeing you at least once before," said Sara after a moment of running through her memory, "You were a sailor, right?"
Charlie nodded, "I'm surprised you remember. I'm still one actually. Own my own ship. That's why I was at the marina. I have to pay if I want to dock my ship here for a few days."
"I see."
"So how are you and your sisters doing? Let's see if I can remember you all, there was Mary, looked just like your mother, and Sara, who always had her nose in a book, Nora, who could
Similar Books
Swamp Monster Massacre
Hunter Shea
The Noh Plays of Japan
Arthur Waley
Joint Task Force #1: Liberia
David E. Meadows
The Corinthian
Georgette Heyer
In the Light of What We Know
Zia Haider Rahman
Fatal Exposure
Gail Barrett
Dark Chase (The Gunrunner Series)
Miranda Kavi
Charm City
Laura Lippman
Sacre Bleu
Christopher Moore
Brie's Montana Dreams (Submissive in Love, #4)
Red Phoenix