Jo Goodman Read Free Page B

be done.
    Setting out to make a record run was a risky proposition at best. Rarely was that the purpose of any voyage. There was money to be made from the effort and certainly there was notoriety for the captain of the clipper and his crew, but it was only a short-term gain for the owner of the line. Steady and reliable transportation was important over the long haul. If the China or Liverpool run was made a few days or even a few hours faster than the last time, it was a feather in someone's cap, but not as critical as delivering the goods to their destination ahead of the competition.
    There was the key to market success. It was not that every clipper run had to break a record; it was that each clipper had to outrun others carrying the same cargo. The real money was in being the first to bring the trade goods to port. That was when tradesmen were willing to pay the highest prices and would put up the least haggling.
    Huntress had been two hours too late arriving in London from Charleston to capture that record, but the record for the complete voyage back to Boston was still in her grasp. Every man aboard her knew it, most especially the one who was now charged with her command.
    Watching Decker as he went through the orders that would bring the clipper about to fill her sails, Jack Quincy was again struck by the rightness of his choice. Decker's easy smile, his loose and relaxed bearing, could be mistaken for carelessness or lack of purpose. Jack had never seen him in quite that light, though he was aware that others had and continued to do so. The fact that Decker knew and never appeared bothered by it was a mark to the good in Jack's log.
    Jack's broad face split in a crooked, dryly amused grin as Decker walked away. Had he ever been as trim and agile as this young man? he wondered. Decker Thorne was light on his feet, like a cat, with a rolling stride that was beautifully synchronized with the rhythms of the clipper and the sea. "Youth," Jack muttered to himself. He was surprised by the surge of envy he felt. It was best not to dwell on things that couldn't be changed. Jack's age and his growing list of infirmities were two of those things. You lived with them or died from them. There wasn't any in-between.
    Jack Quincy knew this was his last voyage. It had been two years since he had taken out a clipper except on a trial run. He had agreed to master Huntress at Jonna's request, even though he had pressed hard for her to accept Decker Thorne as captain. It was one of the few times in his long association with Jonna Remington that she did not embrace his advice. Huntress was too valuable, her mission too important, for her to be given into the command of an untried captain. If Jack wouldn't do it, then she had other masters she could entrust, but she was adamant Remington Huntress would not have Decker Thorne at the helm.
    Jack Quincy grimaced as the clipper lurched when the sails were strained by the wind. His weight settled uncomfortably for a moment on the crutches, and they dug in under his arms. He gripped the braces in his large hands and raised himself up. The splints chafed his calf. He had been too long standing topside already, but he wanted to see Decker bring Huntress into Boston Harbor.
    More than that, he wanted to see Jonna Remington's face when she realized who was in full command of her clipper. He was thinking that breaking the record was not going to be enough. He was still going to feel the sharp edge of her tongue. "Hell to pay," he said to himself. "Damn if there won't be hell to pay."
    But it would be worth it just to see her face.
    * * *
    A crowd had begun to gather on the dock behind Jonna. As word spread that she was on the waterfront, and as the reason for her early morning outing became common knowledge, work in the busy harbor slowed. Wagons moving from ships to warehouses crawled along the dock now as the drivers, taking advantage of their high perches, looked out over the water for a first