Read HT02 - Sing: A Novel of Colorado for Free Online

Mexicans couldn’t meet the captain’s price, California.
    Nic’s eyes moved aft, to the captain, who paused to converse with the first mate. Yes, he could cope with life aboard ship. But it would never make it right, what the captain did …
    “Dominic?” William said, and by his expression, obviously for the second or third time.
    Nic jerked his eyes from the captain to his new friend. “When will we port to reprovision?”
    “Two, maybe three days. Desterro. Ever been there before?”
    “Never this far south of the equator.”
    “She’s a decent city. And has her share of dark-skinned beautiful women.”
    Nic met his meaningful gaze. “Think the mate will allow me ashore?”
    “Not likely.”
    “No,” he said, choking back his agitation. “Thought not. I’ll be waiting on your stories.”
    “Next time you’ll go with me.” William gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder and then went to drop his wooden bowl and spoon in the wash bucket. Then he disappeared below decks to catch his measure of rest. The bell clanged, and others hurriedly shoved gruel or salt pork into their mouths, before reporting to their stations. In minutes, all stood where they ought, and the captain strolled out among them. He nodded once, as if in grave approval, and then continued toward the helm, where the first mate was at the wheel.
    Never once did he glance Nic’s way. Nic’s desire to talk with him, to try and convince him to change his mind, remained strong, but as each day passed, Nic accepted this might be a way to reach his own desired next step. It didn’t make it right, only somewhat acceptable. He had gone through the monies he had inherited from his father and the sale of his publishing house, the last remnants now behind him in Rio. But even with all he had seen and experienced, his heart still hungered for more, for something else, something ahead of him.
    So the captain could keep to himself. It mattered not to Nic. Let him think it was his choice. His choice can become mine.

    London
    “Havender declined our offer,” Jesse said bleakly, as he paid Moira’s bill at the teahouse and escorted her out. “He was our last hope.”
    Moira lifted her eyes to meet his in surprise. Impossible. Not after all their discussions, the excitement, the hope. He had said it was as good as done!
    “I do not have sufficient funds to remain here in London,” he went on. “It is as I suspected. This region is tapped out, hungering for new, unknown talent. You know the Brits—always desiring the next thing. You and I … well, we’ve been here before. We’re known talent.”
    “Is not experience worth something?”
    He tugged her forward, so they could walk, arm in arm, down the street. “Sometimes. But apparently not now.”
    Moira paused to fish a coin from her bag for a beggar on the street and dropped it in the blind man’s tin cup. Jesse hurried her along and pulled her close to his side. “Leave such fellows to the soup kitchens—you’ll be needing to hold on to what you have to get you situated.”
    “There’s always enough,” she sniffed, “to help someone a bit worse off than oneself.” Her mother had always said that, always stopped to help those in need.
    “Tell me that again when your last franc is gone.”
    They continued their walk in silence. Moira was too weary to argue with him and couldn’t help but think of Antoine, how sad he and his daughter looked the day she told them that their employment had ended. She sent them off with the finest of recommendations, but she doubted Antoine would ever work again. No one else would hire such an old man, but something about him had pulled at her heart, ever since he first arrived at her door, hat in hand, asking for work. Would Antoinette see to the old man’s needs? Moira knew they had no family but each other.
    “So we find ourselves in similar financial predicaments. I must return to Paris to secure a role, even without your aid. Perhaps you