Rainy Day Dreams: 2 Page 16

  Kathryn bit down on her lip and tried to keep her disappointment from showing. Perhaps it was not reasonable to expect an answer so soon. Captain Baker probably only had a few days to deliver her letter to Papa before the Leonesa set sail. Still, he had promised to see to it immediately.

  Evie placed a sympathetic hand on her arm. “Miles Coffinger is the postmaster, but since he’s back East checking into a business venture, Letitia’s handling his duties. She’s very fast in sorting the mail. We’ll drop by on the way home and ask her to bring over the letter as soon as she can.”

  If the mailbag included a letter at all, which Kathryn doubted. Surely Papa would have hand-delivered a notice to the Leonesa when he read of her precarious situation here. She smiled her thanks, and then directed a question at Captain Johnson.

  “Do you have room for me on the return voyage?”

  Without hesitation he nodded. “Though you might have to share the cabin with a few barrels of pickled salmon if we run out of storage room.”

  “At least they won’t wake me with snoring,” she joked, and then cleared her throat. “How much is the passage?”

  “Forty dollars.”

  With an effort, she kept her expression impassive. The price was nearly twice what Papa had paid for her ticket on the Fair Lady. Of course she had shared that cabin with Helen, but a forty-dollar passage would take every remaining cent she had in her possession.

  “Fine,” she managed in an even tone.

  “We’ll hoist anchor with the tide Friday morning.” The man turned toward the harbormaster and the two wandered away, talking of barrels and cargo and the like.

  “Must you leave so soon?” Louisa placed an arm around her shoulders and hugged. “We enjoy your company so much.”

  “Yes, we do.” Evie nodded agreement. “I don’t know how I’ll manage after you’re gone.”

  Moved by their unstinting expressions of friendship, she smiled at both ladies. “The blockhouse is almost finished, and then you’ll have your husbands back. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

  “Not true. We’ll miss you terribly.” Evie tilted her head to the side, her expression kind. “We do understand. The threat of an attack is hard on everyone, but Seattle is our home. If I hadn’t made a commitment to this town and the people here, I’d book my passage along with you.”

  “Me too.” Louisa squeezed her shoulders once more before releasing her. “Oh, look. There are Reverend Blaine and Roberta, back from California. Yoo-hoo, Roberta!”

  A couple stood amid a group of passengers on board the Leonesa, waiting for the captain to approve the lowering of the gangway so they could disembark. They waved back.

  “Oh, I wish you were staying until Sunday,” Evie told Kathryn. “Church meetings are as much fun as our Thursday afternoon teas.”

  “Well, almost.” Louisa grinned, and then with a final wave toward the minister and his wife, turned away. “I’d better get up the hill. It’s nearly time for the Morelands to bring Inez home.”

  Kathryn fell into step between her friends. She would miss these ladies, and though she was astonished to realize it, she would miss Seattle too. The people here had worked hard to carve their lives out of the forest, and she had grown to respect their determination to persevere. An image of Jason arose in her mind’s eye, and she was more than a little astonished to realize she would miss him too.

  Letitia entered the café the next morning while calling out in a singsong voice. “Kathryn, there’s something in the post for you.”

  Kathryn straightened from her task of scraping the last of the gravy from a stack of dirty plates into the bucket of pig slops. Her mood, which had taken a disturbing downward spiral as breakfast drew to an end with no sign of Jason, brightened at the news. Papa had written after all.

  She exchanged a smile with Helen, who was seated nearby sipping her tea and waiting to accompany her back to the Faulkner House. Letitia wove between the tables, waving an envelope above her head.

  “And guess what arrived on board the Leonesa?” She made her announcement to the room, clearly delighted to have news to bestow. “A piano.”

  Creases appeared on Evie’s forehead. “Who on earth bought a piano?”

  “Madame Garritson. Apparently she’s finally going to do something with that empty front room.” She delivered the letter into Kathryn’s hands as though bestowing a jewel.

  Though interesting, the arrival of a piano for the Faulkner House paled as she inspected the envelope. Her name stretched luxuriously across the front in Papa’s familiar script above the address of Faulkner House, Seattle in Washington Territory. The back side bore his trademark maroon wax seal with an ornate B indentation. She took it from the woman’s hands and suffered a momentary pang of disappointment. The envelope was light, and very thin. Too thin to contain anything more than a sheet of paper. No money, then. A letter of credit, perhaps?

  Three sets of eyes watched while she sank into the nearest chair and broke the seal. Inside was a single sheet of Papa’s expensive stationery with a monogrammed B that matched the one in the wax seal.

  Dear Daughter,

  The omission of her name warned of the tone of the letter. Papa addressed her as daughter when he sought to remind her of her subordinate position in his household, usually prefacing a reprimand. Apprehension stabbed at her. Had he somehow discovered her shameful secret?

  Your mother and I are delighted to hear of your safe arrival and good health. I have long known that exposure to sea air promotes a strong constitution.

  I imagine the revelation of the nature of your duties came as a surprise. Let me assure you, Cousin Mary Ann did not misrepresent the position in her correspondence to me. I held back certain details because I knew you would balk at performing tasks that you consider beneath you. Let me remind you that my first position—

  Kathryn set her jaw, irritation tightening her muscles to steel. Remind her? What need, when all her life he took every opportunity to describe his lowly beginnings and the grueling efforts that led to his eventual success in California’s financial industry? She should have known better than to complain about her duties at the Faulkner House. At least he made no mention of the shameful incident she hoped he would never find out about.

  She briefly scanned the next few chiding sentences. What had he to say about the Indians?

  With regard to the rest of your letter, I made some inquiries into the Indian situation and was assured by my friend Senator Weller that the matter has been thoroughly investigated. Governor Stevens himself reports that San Francisco and New York are in greater danger of an Indian attack than Seattle. The senator was aware that some of the townspeople lean toward an alarmist viewpoint. My advice is to align yourself with those of a more levelheaded nature.

  Your mother sends her love.

  Warmly,

  Your Father

  Aware of the watching gazes fixed on her, Kathryn folded the letter and reinserted it into the envelope calmly. Not only had Papa refused to acknowledge the danger, he had ignored her hints that she would soon run out of money. Perhaps her request had been too subtle? No. He’d understood her perfectly. His denial had been tacit but clear. She was to stay here and stop worrying about a looming attack that he refused to consider a real threat.

  Should she leave anyway? She did have the money for passage on the Leonesa, though barely. Papa would be furious when she arrived. What would he do? Surely he wouldn’t deny her room and board. Mama wouldn’t hear of it. But he certainly would not bother to hide his displeasure.

  She tried to picture herself standing before him, head bowed, enduring what was sure to be a highly unpleasant lecture. What choice would she have but to endure the chastisement? After all, she had no means of supporting herself.

  The thought stabbed at her, leaving a distinctly unpleasant taste in her mouth. Here she was, a perfectly capable woman, begging her father for money. What would Mrs. Stanton and Miss Anthony think? Why, they would advise her
to stiffen her backbone, to find a job, and make her own way rather than continuing to rely on her father as though she were an invalid. And she could support herself. Had she not proven that since arriving in Seattle? Surely she could manage quite nicely in San Francisco, where opportunity abounded.

  Still, the chiding tone of Papa’s message stung.

  Pocketing the letter, she cleared her throat and made an announcement to the trio watching her. “It appears I shall not be leaving immediately after all.”

  And if she died in an Indian attack that Papa refused to believe was inevitable, it would serve him right if Mama never spoke to him again.

  “Okay, hold it there. That’s perfect.”

  Jason placed the nail and pounded it in place. Three blows and it sank through the plank, securely embedded in wood all the way up to the head. He gave the board a strong tug, pleased when it did not move. To be safe he would have liked to place a second steel wire beside the first, but nails were in short supply in Seattle. They’d used every spare one on this blockhouse. Forty feet square and as sturdy as any fortress back East, it would stand firm against everything an attacker could throw at it except maybe a howitzer. And the Indians definitely didn’t have access to one of those.

  “I’m good,” he called over to Big Dog, who had just secured the other end of the plank at the blockhouse’s corner.

  “That’ll do it for this one,” the huge man answered, and then called down to Red on the ground, “We’re ready. Send up the next board.”

  But Red shook his head. “Time for a break. Supper’s here.”

  Jason straightened and looked toward the main road. Sure enough, a wagon had just pulled up to a halt at the bottom of the knoll. A trio of men dropped their tools and took off at a run to help Kathryn climb down from the bench. The sight of her profile, that old-fashioned bonnet concealing her face and her black cloak enshrouding every womanly curve, lifted his spirits. He would never have thought it possible, but living in this male-dominated town was starting to get to him. Until he moved here he didn’t realize how much the mere presence of a woman changed a man’s attitude. It had nothing to do with attraction, either. Men acted differently when a woman was around. Manners came out. Courtesy became an unspoken code. In many ways, the world was a better place with a woman in the vicinity.

  While Big Dog made haste shinnying down one of the poles they used as a makeshift ladder, Jason took his time. He always hung back and watched the men fawn over Kathryn while she distributed the light supper she delivered every evening. No sense joining the throng and having her mistake him for one of her drooling admirers. They were fools anyway. Why fawn over what they couldn’t have? She’d made no secret of the fact that she was returning to San Francisco at the first opportunity. The arrival of the Leonesa yesterday no doubt heralded her departure.

  When the last of the men had received his supper from Kathryn’s hands, he sauntered over to the back of the wagon. “Got anything left, or did that swarm of locusts eat it all?”

  A smile touched her lips, and she pulled out a bundle from behind a crate in the back of the wagon. “I saved something for you.”

  Now, there was no reason for the sudden thud inside his rib cage. He drew his brows down and almost snatched the bundle from her, mumbling a quick “Thanks.”

  The hurt look that erased her smile caused him a guilty pang. No sense being rude, especially when she wanted so badly to please him. He stopped in the act of turning away.

  “Thank you,” he repeated, this time more deliberately. “I appreciate it.”

  When he unwrapped the cloth, he found two sandwiches, a half-dozen molasses cakes, and a thick wedge of raisin pie.

  “I feel I must warn you.” A wry smile turned her lips into a crooked line. “I made the pie. It’s not very good.”

  The effort it cost her pride to say that was obvious. A laugh rose in his throat, but he bit it back. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  “No, really.” She fixed a wide, earnest look on him. “Evie stood at my elbow every minute, but it came out all wrong anyway. I…” She bit her lip. “I’ve never baked a pie before today.”

  A touch of color appeared high on her cheeks. Twin locks of hair had escaped the severe knot she habitually wore at the nape of her neck. When she stood there like that, looking humble and a little embarrassed, she looked…quite attractive.

  The thought struck him like a bad smell.

  He jerked the cloth back in place over the plate and then lifted the whole as if in tribute. “Thank you again. I wish you safe journey tomorrow.”

  When he turned to go, she stopped him. “Jason?”

  He didn’t answer, but did pause and wait for her to continue.

  “I’m not leaving tomorrow. My plans have changed.” Her shoulders heaved in a laugh. “I hope this fort is as sturdy as it looks, because as it turns out, I’m staying. At least for a while.”

  If Big Dog had hit the back of his head with a piece of milled lumber, Jason couldn’t have been more stunned. Or more displeased. She was staying? As in, not leaving?

  “Why?” The question snapped off his tongue before he could temper his tone. “You said you were leaving at the first opportunity.”

  Kathryn drew back, offended. Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe I changed my mind. I wasn’t aware that I needed to obtain your approval first.”

  What was that thought a moment ago about her being attractive? He’d most definitely been mistaken. Why, look at that jutting jaw, that obstinate glint in her eyes. Never had he seen a woman who possessed stubbornness in greater quantity than Kathryn.

  A suitable answer failed to present itself amid the roiling thoughts that whipped through his mind. Instead he slammed the plate containing his supper down on the bed of the wagon with a crack.

  As he left, he heard Red venture a tentative inquiry. “If he’s not gonna eat that pie, can I have it?”

  Thursday, January 17, 1856

  Jason left the Faulkner House long before sunup. He passed between the totem pole and the café, glancing hopefully at the cracks between the shutters closed over the windows. No sign of light. Every so often when he went to work early Evie was already up, making coffee and getting a head start on breakfast. Not this morning, though. With a sigh he took a half-loaf of bread he’d begged from her the night before from his satchel and bit into the slightly stale crust. A fresh biscuit and a thick, juicy ham steak would have gone down well this morning. Not to mention a cup of Evie’s coffee, which was far superior to the stuff the men down at the mill kept going all day. He could wait a few minutes…

  No. The risk that he’d run into Kathryn was too great. She’d taken to rising almost as early as Evie.

  Irritated, he cast a backward glance at the Faulkner House, half afraid that he would see the door open and her figure emerging onto the porch. He lengthened his stride and hurried down the dark street. Was it not enough that he had lost much of the night’s sleep because of her? Her revelation that she was not returning to San Francisco had played over and over in his thoughts as he lay in the dark room. What had happened to change her mind? From the very first day she arrived in Seattle she’d made no secret of the fact that she would put the town behind her at the first opportunity. Why, then, when the chance presented itself, was she staying?

  When he rounded a corner that put the Faulkner House and Evangeline’s Café out of sight, he settled into an easier gait. When there was no danger of running into her, he could relax. But when the possibility of seeing her arose, tension spread from his gut outward.

  Angry with himself, he kicked at a clump of dirt that he could barely see on the dark road. Over the past several days, he had found her less irritating than before. He’d spent hours last night considering the reason. She had lost the edge of arrogance that had sharpened her personality when they first arrived in Seattle. In recent days she’d become almost pleasant to be around. She smiled more often, and her features seemed…softer, or something. What was the reas
on behind the change? Perhaps working in a servant’s role had tempered her pride, or perhaps it was the gentler influence of Louisa and Evie.

  Or maybe it was his attitude that had changed when she finally stopped plaguing him about art. He’d been on the verge of telling her the truth about the painting that hung in his room simply to shut her up. But then she’d changed her attitude on her own, thank the Lord. The less he had to talk about that painting, the better he felt.

  The painting. The scene rose in his mind with such force that he could feel the sunlight on his arms even here, in Seattle’s chilly predawn darkness. Could feel Beth’s feather-soft kiss brush against his lips. Pain squeezed his heart, but not the old pain to which he’d grown accustomed in the years since Beth’s death. In the long, sleepless hours on his bunk last night he’d realized there was a new element to the grief that clutched at his throat and caused his breath to labor in his chest. A traitorous idea had snaked its way into his thoughts.

  Maybe he could, one day…love someone else.

  The disloyal thought punched at his heart with a guilty fist. A prayer, the first since his wife’s death, formed in his mind.

  No, Lord. I love Beth. I’ll always love Beth. You gave her to me, and I promised to love her forever.

  Then why did Kathryn’s image swim before him in the darkness of the night? Why did the memory of her standing on the dock, hands clasped over her mouth in horror as she watched two dozen men beat each other to a pulp over her—why did he wake to that image in his mind before he even opened his eyes?

  The Almighty remained silent, leaving Jason to grasp for reasons on his own.

  It’s because I’m in a place where women are so scarce. The few who are here command the attention of every man, not only me. Does she have any idea how often her name comes up at the mill or at the blockhouse? No wonder I can’t get her off my mind.

  For that reason alone it was better for her to leave Seattle. Let her go back to San Francisco, where she belonged. But now it looked like that wasn’t going to happen.