Rainy Day Dreams: 2 Read online

  Nonsense. I don’t want to be a part of this town, especially when it is surrounded by savages.

  Still, she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of envy. These were good people, and their care for one another was fully apparent. It would be nice to be counted among their friends.

  The rain still fell in a steady drizzle by the time she tied the laces of her bonnet beneath her chin, ready to leave the restaurant. The sun had fully set, and the moon and stars were obscured behind a ceiling of clouds. Though she was not normally fearful of the dark, she couldn’t help but wonder if there might be hostile eyes watching her from within the black shadows that lined the opposite side of the muddy avenue. Dim lights shone in several windows of Faulkner House. Clutching the tray Evie had prepared for Miss Everett, she paused in the doorway of the restaurant and peered in that direction, trying to gauge the distance between her and those flickering beacons.

  “Can I help you carry that, ma’am?”

  The question came from directly behind her. She turned to find a handful of men standing shoulder to shoulder in a semicircle, watching her. Big Dog stood in the center, his lumbering height drawing her attention to his eager face.

  “I can mana—” She closed her mouth on the automatic refusal. The tray wasn’t heavy, but the darkness outside would certainly be less frightening with a couple of strong men at her side. She arranged a smile on her face. “I hate to impose on your time…” She let the sentence trail into an inviting pause.

  Six voices instantly assured her that it was no imposition, and that they were happy to be of assistance. Red took the tray from her hands, and several muscular arms were offered for her to choose from. She awarded a smile all around before slipping her hand in the crook of Big Dog’s elbow. His chest puffed importantly while the others’ deflated.

  “Thank you, gentlemen. I do appreciate your kindness.”

  As she turned toward the door, her gaze snagged on a pair of eyes across the room. Having just shrugged on his overcoat, Jason stood behind his chair watching her. His lips tightened into a scornful line, and he shook his head slightly, as though in disgust. Irritated, Kathryn turned away with a toss of her head. One minute he made an endearing offer of help for the blockhouse project, and the next he stood in judgment of her for accepting help across a dark alley in an unknown and possibly hostile street. Had he been a true gentleman, he would have offered to escort her himself since they were both going in that direction anyway. Not that she would have accepted.

  She stepped through the doorway, Big Dog beside her and her entourage close behind. Was it her imagination, or did that insolent stare remain fixed on her? By sheer force of will, she did not cast a backward glance.

  Jason watched Kathryn leave the restaurant with a company of attentive men trailing behind her. Not three hours past she had vehemently denied the suggestion that she was a coquette, though he hadn’t accused her of such. Not openly, anyway.

  “She has certainly entranced them.”

  He turned to find Evie staring at the doorway through which the party had just exited, a stack of empty plates in her hands. Noah had left a few moments before to accompany David and his family up the street so they could discuss some logistics concerning their blockhouse. With Kathryn’s departure, that left Jason alone with Evie. Something about her open, calming manner invited an uninhibited response.

  “No doubt they’d be entranced by any female,” he commented.

  Delicate eyebrows arched on her smooth brow. “You don’t find Kathryn attractive?”

  “I didn’t say that.” The answer sounded like an affirmation, which he hurried to correct. “Not that I do. I haven’t considered the matter one way or another. I merely meant that females are notoriously scarce here.”

  An amused grin arose on her lips. “That is true enough.” She took the plates to the long worktable beside the stove and put them with the other dishes.

  “No doubt they’ll be disappointed to learn that this female doesn’t plan to stay.” He’d seen the consternation on Kathryn’s face when Captain Baker delivered the news that there was no room aboard the Fair Lady. “How long will it be before the next ship arrives?”

  Evie answered over her shoulder, her hands occupied in scraping the remains of her customers’ dinners into a bucket. “I think the Leonesa is scheduled to arrive next week.”

  “Miss Bergert won’t have too long a wait, then.”

  “A lot can happen in a week.” Her tone became light. “Seattle has a way of growing on a girl.”

  He found her words faintly disquieting. The sooner Kathryn was installed on a ship and sailing for home, the better. He found her annoying, denying that she was a flirt one minute and commanding the attention of a roomful of millworkers the next. Over the years of working with timber crews, he’d learned that the biggest enemies of a tight schedule were distractions. This blockhouse would be diverting enough. Adding a woman into the mix was a complication he would prefer not to deal with, especially during his first month on the job.

  Evie finished scraping one stack of dirty plates and started on the next. He glanced toward the doorway and the Faulkner House beyond. He had letters to write, having promised to let his family back home know when he arrived. Starting tomorrow, his free time for tasks like correspondence would be limited. And yet, with the evening’s talk about Indian attacks, he hesitated to leave a woman alone.

  Though he had just donned his coat, he unfastened the top button. “Can I help you clean up? I’m a fair hand at washing dishes.”

  She paused in her work to turn a surprised look on him. “Are you? That’s not a skill most men would lay claim to.”

  “My wife trained me well.”

  “You’re married?” Her eyes went round with interest. “I had no idea.”

  Pain erupted in his chest. Not the knife-sharp grief that tortured him for the first few months after Beth’s death, but the familiar suffering that had since become his constant companion. Sometimes it was no more than a dull ache and at others, like now, it pounded against his heart with the force of a lumberjack’s ax.

  “Not anymore.” He clipped the words.

  Compassion flooded her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  The understanding in her tone threatened to undo him, and he turned away, swallowing hard against a tight throat. A moment later he felt the soft touch of her hand on his arm from behind.

  “I know the pain of losing someone you love. You’ll be in my prayers, Jason.”

  Prayers? The pain twisted deep inside. He and Beth used to pray together every night, their arms wrapped around each other as they thanked God for blessing them with so much love. He hadn’t prayed since. He wasn’t sure he knew how anymore.

  Thank goodness Noah returned at that moment. He strode through the open doorway, his expression pensive. When he caught sight of Jason he gave a nod. “Still here, Gates?”

  Evie answered in a bright voice. “I was just about to put him to work as a kitchen slave. Now that you’ve returned, he’s escaped my whip.”

  Noah’s face screwed up into a good-natured grimace. “I knew I should have accepted Louisa’s offer of a cup of coffee.”

  Glad for an excuse to take his leave, Jason re-buttoned his coat. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Thank you for the delicious meal. I haven’t eaten food like that in a good long while.”

  “I look forward to serving you many more.”

  Her gracious smile didn’t hold a trace of the sympathy he found so disturbing, though it lingered in her eyes. He dipped his head in farewell and made his escape.

  Four

  Tuesday, January 8, 1856

  The sun had barely begun to rise when Jason joined a line of men making their way down the hill toward the mill. Yesterday’s rain had stopped, at least for the moment, and the air held the chill of winter. Nothing like back East, but a frigid breeze stung his cheeks. He recognized several of the men from the restaurant the night before and dipped his head in a greeting here and
there. As though in deference to the early hour and those still sleeping in the houses they passed, they spoke only in whispers and not to him at all, though he did overhear the occasional phrase that let him know he was a topic of several conversations.

  “…Evangeline’s last night…”

  “…seems decent enough…”

  Someone mentioned Michigan, and he hid a smile. He had not discussed his past last night, but the men obviously knew something about him. Probably from Yesler, which made sense. No doubt he’d been talking about the man he’d hired, describing his qualifications. Still, being the topic of discussion among strangers—even though they would soon be coworkers and hopefully friends—didn’t sit well. He valued privacy above almost everything else. That was one reason he intended to keep to himself as much as possible here in Seattle, especially where gossipmongers like Madame Garritson were concerned.

  He had dropped his guard a bit with Evie last night and let the information that he was a widower slip. No doubt that tidbit would spread like wind through a forest. But unlike Madame, Evie didn’t seem the type to indulge in mean-spirited gossip.

  The mill was situated at the bottom of Mill Street, directly on the shore end of the first of two piers. The Fair Lady lay in port at the second. In the dawning light, Jason took his bearings. A wide, muddy strip of bare land carved into the surrounding forest ran behind the buildings he had passed yesterday, and he recognized it immediately as the skids. Deep grooves bore evidence of the passage of many tons of logs, which could be sent sliding down the steep embankment to land directly into a cordoned-off area of the bay and floated into the mill. A tall smokestack belched great billowing clouds of white smoke that rose and dissipated into the rapidly lightening sky. The boiler was already going, then. He quickened his pace and passed by a handful of millworkers. He’d intended to arrive before the operation got started for the day.

  He entered at the nearest end of the long mill shed and stopped to get his bearings. To his right lay the boiler, where a pair of workers were already feeding the fire with shovels full of wood chips and scrap lumber. Heat rolled toward him from that direction, a welcome relief from the cold outside. The welcome wouldn’t last. Though the sides of this shed were open to the elements, the fires and the engine and the physical effort of the work would make the men warmer than was comfortable by the end of the first hour. The smell of sweating men and milled timber that lingered in the air would intensify, and by lunchtime he’d be praying for a wind off Elliott Bay to blow through the building and cool them off.

  A man on the far side of the shed caught sight of him. He said something to the fellow he was talking to and then made his way down the length of the conveyer belt. His long-legged, confident strides and the erect set to his shoulders gave evidence of his self-assurance. Henry Yesler, if Jason were to hazard a guess. He wore his hair short, his mustache shaved, and his beard neatly combed. A liberal amount of gray colored the beard, but his dark hair had not yet surrendered to the silver touch of age.

  He extended a hand when he neared and held Jason’s gaze in a direct one of his own. “That you, Gates?”

  “Yes, sir.” His fingers were warm, his grip firm.

  “Welcome. Sorry I didn’t make it up the hill to meet you last night. We had some trouble with the engine, and repairs took longer than expected.”

  Jason tossed a glance over his shoulder toward the platform where the giant engine sat, its levers, pistons, and wheels dormant since it had not yet been started for the morning’s shift. “I should have come down to help.”

  “Nah. Nothing you could have done.” He dismissed Jason’s chagrin with a grunt and then grinned. “Me either, for that matter, except hover over the mechanic and ask for an update every five minutes.”

  Jason returned the grin. “I’m sure that motivated him to hurry the job along.”

  “You don’t know my mechanic.” He rolled his eyes. “He let me dither for an hour or so before he snapped. Almost took my head off. Told me to go shuffle papers or something and let him work. I backed off, and he had it fixed twenty minutes later.”

  His good-natured manner spoke of his confidence in the mechanic’s abilities and a healthy realization of his own tendency to brood over the men’s work. Jason made a mental note to stay out of the mechanic’s way, or at least to hover from a distance.

  Yesler turned and waved down the length of the shed. “This is our operation. You’ve worked mills before, so I expect you know your way around a saw.”

  Nodding, Jason inspected the equipment. The infeed deck, rollers, and head rig all looked standard from here. He’d put in his time operating every piece of equipment in the sawmill where he’d worked back in Michigan. The work of the sawyer suited him best, actually setting and operating the primary saw. Something about watching metal teeth rip into a rough log and turn it into clean, usable timber, about being the first to inhale the odors of nature that were released when a log was opened for the first time, gave him a sense of satisfaction like none other. His job here would be to manage the men who did the physical work. Still, he intended to get his bearings by taking a hands-on approach. A man had to work with a piece of equipment before he really understood what it could do.

  He nodded at Yesler. “Yes, sir, I know my way around a mill. You’ve got a nice outfit here.”

  “I bought the machinery down in San Francisco and shipped it up here. No proper wharf at the time. We had to throw it overboard and float it to shore, all except the engine. Loaded that on a raft.” His head turned as he gazed around, an expression of proprietary satisfaction on his face. “Yep. It took us a while to smooth out the operation, but here we are four years later and doing great.”

  “I can’t wait to get started.”

  “Good.” Yesler slapped him on the back. “ ’Course, you’ll spend most of your time pushing a pencil, I’m afraid.”

  He arranged his features into an expansive grimace, and Jason laughed. “That’s all right. Part of the job. Believe it or not, I enjoy the paperwork almost as much as the mill work.”

  “Now, that right there proves I made a good decision in hiring you.” The man’s smile became companionable, and the last vestiges of tension fled Jason’s muscles. They were going to get along just fine.

  “Before you start going over the books, I’d like you to get your hands dirty. Work with the men, let them see you know what you’re doing.” He spied someone behind Jason. “In fact, here’s somebody you need to meet first off.”

  Jason turned and saw a familiar face approaching. William Townsend, the man who’d arrived at the restaurant in David Denny’s company and then left so abruptly.

  “We met last night.” He extended a hand. “Good to see you, Townsend.”

  The older man examined him with the same cautious gaze as the night before, and again Jason wondered about his position with Yesler. Why had he not been given the manager job?

  After what seemed to be a longer-than-normal pause, the man’s grip became firmer for a second before the release. “We don’t stand on ceremony around here. Call me Will.” He grinned. “It’ll be nicer than some of the names the men have for me.”

  Feeling as though he had passed some sort of test, Jason grinned in reply. “Fair enough. I’m Jason.”

  Yesler jerked a nod and flashed a brief smile at each of them. “Right. Will, I’ll leave Jason in your care. Walk him around, introduce him to the men. I’ll be in the office if you need me.”

  He started to turn away, but Will stopped him. “Don’t know if you’ve heard, but David and Noah are planning to build a blockhouse up at the end of Cherry Street.”

  Yesler stopped, and his smile transformed into a grim line. “I heard. Are they going to start work this morning?”

  Will nodded. “I told him this couldn’t come at a worse time, what with that shipment due by the end of next week.”

  Uh-oh. Jason eyed his new boss. A tight timeline to meet a scheduled shipment meant double shifts
in most mill houses. Would he forbid the men to work on the blockhouse?

  He straightened and turned to face Yesler head-on. “I volunteered to help with the construction after hours. If that’s a problem—”

  The man cut him off with a swift gesture. “Not a bit. I’ve been telling David and Noah and anyone else who’ll listen that my Indian friends are worried about these newcomers from the northern tribes. We’ve got to do something, and we can’t afford to wait.” He clapped Jason on the back a second time. “Glad you’re throwing your support in that corner, Jason. I’ll be putting in my share of time up there too.” He peered at them both from beneath thick eyebrows. “ ’Course, we still have to meet that shipment. If it starts looking like we’re going to come up short, you let me know. Sooner rather than later.”

  Will met his gaze without flinching. “We’ll meet the shipment. Don’t worry about that.”

  His certainty boosted Jason’s confidence. If Will Townsend had anything to say about it, he believed they would.

  “Good man.”

  Yesler gave a curt nod and then turned on his heel and headed for a door in the corner Jason hadn’t noticed before. The wall beside it contained a large glass window, and he glimpsed a desk in a tiny dark room on the other side. The office, no doubt, with an opening so Yesler could keep an eye on the mill operations while he worked. Smart man.

  When he disappeared through the door, he turned to find Will studying him through narrowed eyes. “He showed me your qualifications. You’re young to have worked all the places you have.”

  It was a statement of fact, but was that a hint of doubt in his tone? Jason kept his expression impassive. The new man in an operation always had to prove himself. Didn’t bother him.

  “I started young. Worked alongside my father cutting white pine when I could barely hold my end of the crosscut. Then I got a job in the mill sweeping sawdust. Water powered. As soon as I operated my first mill saw, I was hooked.” He allowed himself a smile at the memory.