Wilderness Days (7 page)

“I brought my famous crumble cake. Mr. Frink just adores my crumble cake,” she confided. “My clever husband was so smart to bring that iron stove in the wagon.” I just stared at the cake.

“You’ve been kindness itself, cooking supper for all of us,” she continued, pressing my hand. “Really. It was the least I could do.”

I didn’t want to appear ungracious. “Well, I suppose we could serve both.”

Mrs. Frink announced, “For dessert there is a choice of Miss Peck’s pie or my crumble cake.”

“I’ll take the crumble cake,” Mr. Russell said quickly.

“For me as well,” Mr. Swan said with a broad smile.

Mr. Frink merely nodded in assent. I was beginning to wonder if the man had a tongue in his head.

Jehu’s eyes rested on my face. “I’ll have a piece of pie. Jane makes wonderful pie.”

Mrs. Frink turned to Keer-ukso. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence and then Keer-ukso said, a little reluctantly, “Pie, too.”

I smiled at him gratefully.

Mr. Russell took a hearty bite of Mrs. Frink’s crumble cake and closed his eyes in delight. “This here’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he said with true fervor, devouring his slice of crumble cake in two quick bites and then holding out his plate
for a second helping. “I’d be much obliged if you’d cut me another piece, ma’am.”

Mrs. Frink bestowed a radiant smile upon him and carved off another piece of cake.

“Capital cake, my dear woman. Simply marvelous,” Mr. Swan declared in his effusive way, a crumb clinging to his beard. He held out his empty plate to Mrs. Frink for another piece as well.

Keer-ukso looked with real longing at the famous crumble cake, his pie untouched.

What about my pie?
I wanted to shout. Until now, my pie had been the best thing on Shoalwater Bay. All the men said so!

Mrs. Frink was perfect! She had the manners of Miss Hepplewhite, and she could shoot a gun like a man and bake a cake better than me! Why, she even spoke perfect French.

“Madame Frink has read
Manon Lescaut
in the original,” Father Joseph had told me in an impressed voice. Whatever that was!

I was terrible at languages and had barely learned how to say “May I have a fresh napkin?” during my Conversational French lessons at Miss Hepplewhite’s Young Ladies Academy.

I had longed for female companionship, but now that another lady had arrived, I rather wished she’d go back to Ohio.

Even Brandywine, the useless beast, followed her around. He shamelessly flipped on his back to get her to rub his plump belly.

Jehu alone seemed immune to her charm.

“Do you like Mrs. Frink?” I asked Keer-ukso the next day as
we sat on the beach in the early morning light. The sun was hiding behind a thick gray sky, and the day perfectly reflected my bad mood.

He shrugged.

“Do you know that Mr. Russell offered to build her a chimney? That man never even offered to put up a tent for me! And now he’s going to build her a chimney?”

“Chimney is no good,” Keer-ukso said. “Swan’s chimney fell down.”

Keer-ukso had a very poor opinion of chimneys on all account of Mr. Swan’s chimney crashing down during a thunderstorm and almost killing us all.

“Yes, but that’s not the point. The point is she has all the men scurrying around to help her and do things for her when they would never do anything for me!”

Keer-ukso looked affronted. “I help Boston Jane.”

“Yes, I didn’t mean you. I meant the others.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You have
sick tumtum.”

Sick tumtum
meant jealous.

“No, I’m not jealous,” I hedged. “Well, maybe I am, but only a little. It’s just that, that,” I blustered, “I’m a lady, too, but nobody ever treats me like her. Nobody ever built me an outhouse!” I finished in a huff.

Keer-ukso just shook his head and said,
“Sick tumtum.”

Later that day as I was sitting on a log on the beach trying to stitch some ribbon onto one of my skirts, I pricked my finger and realized that I would never sew a skirt as fashionable as Mrs.
Frink’s. No matter how hard I tried, I would never be as good as her. It was almost as if I were back in Philadelphia with Sally Biddle. Except that Mrs. Frink was worse than Sally Biddle, because she was so nice.

Mr. Swan came tramping over, stick in hand. His cheeks were ruddy from the crisp weather.

“Hello, my dear,” Mr. Swan said. “Capital day!”

It was gray and drizzly as usual.

“Hmmph,” I said.

“Have you seen Mrs. Frink?” he asked cheerfully.

“No.”

“Charming woman, Mrs. Frink. Simply charming!” Mr. Swan mused.

“Oh, I know. It’s perfectly plain that the entire world thinks she’s charming,” I said, a bitter edge to my voice.

He looked startled. “My dear?”

I shook my head and sighed.

Mr. Swan patted my hand. “We are all very fond of you, my dear.”

They were all very fond of me? But they adored Mrs. Frink and I was plainly not in the same class as her.

“I must be off.” Mr. Swan cleared his throat importantly. “Mrs. Frink has asked my opinion on the architectural plans for the hotel, and I have some interesting ideas.” He paused. “Would you like to join me?”

I shook my head.

It was so vexing. Mr. Swan was
my
friend,
my
business
partner. I wanted to ask why couldn’t he have some interesting ideas about our oyster business, but instead I simply stared at the bay.

“Ah well, I shall see you later then, my dear,” Mr. Swan said awkwardly, and walked away.

I spent the rest of the afternoon stalking up and down the beach. The men could fix their own supper for once, I thought angrily, as I walked off my frustration. It would do them good to see how much work I did. They didn’t appreciate me. Why, they barely remembered to thank me! Not to mention, no one ever offered to help clear the table, except, of course, Jehu.

The sun had sunk behind the mountains when I finally returned to the cabin. I fully expected to be met by a group of angry, hungry men, but instead all that greeted me was silence. The cabin was dark, and the fire had been allowed to burn out. Where had everyone gone?

And then I heard Brandywine barking. I followed the sound of his barking down the path that led to the Frinks’ cabin. The dog was whining piteously at the door to be let in. Was something wrong? I knocked, and after a moment the door opened.

“Why hello, Miss Peck!” Mrs. Frink exclaimed in delight.

I looked past her shoulder, my eyes widening in surprise. Sitting around a table that bore the remains of a roast chicken supper with biscuits and gravy—and mashed potatoes!—were all the men. Mr. Swan was happily tucking away a big piece of Mrs. Frink’s crumble cake, the crumbs clinging to his beard.

“Do join us, Miss Peck,” Mrs. Frink said graciously, stepping aside, but all I could do was stand there and stare at them. “We were just beginning to worry about you.”

“Jane,” Jehu said, pushing back his chair.

But I didn’t wait to speak to him. I turned and ran off into the black night, knowing that I could disappear tomorrow and no one would miss me.

No one at all.

The next morning Mrs. Frink appeared in my doorway.

“Miss Peck,” she began carefully, “would you care to come over to our cabin and have tea this afternoon?”

I wanted to say no, but all those years at Miss Hepplewhite’s Young Ladies Academy stopped me, and I found myself saying yes and thanking her for the invitation.

In short order, Mrs. Frink and I were sitting at her table across from each other. Before us sat tin cups of tea poured by her hand and flavored perfectly with milk and sugar. I could not have poured a better cup of tea myself.

Mrs. Frink smiled brightly. “So tell me, Miss Peck. What have you been doing with yourself these last few months? One has so much free time without social obligations, don’t you agree? That was one thing I did not miss on the trail, I confess,” and here she gave a little laugh.

I wanted to say that I’d been spending all my free time surviving, not to mention washing every shirt in the territory several times. Instead, I said, “I rather miss calling on acquaintances.”

Mrs. Frink worried her lip and swallowed. “Mr. Swan says that you’re quite a talented watercolorist.”

“I’m afraid that Mr. Swan was no doubt drunk when he said so.”

“Yes, well, I’d love to see your work sometime.” She tittered nervously. “So I may judge for myself.” Mrs. Frink’s gaze settled on my hair. “And you must come over another time and let me do something with your hair. I have a simply wonderful collection of combs, and I’m certain we could make a very fashionable arrangement,” she said eagerly.

My hand flew to my head automatically. I was wearing a bonnet to hide the bald patch, but I knew those unruly stray curls that Sally Biddle used to tease me about were escaping everywhere. “No, thank you,” I said coldly, and had the satisfaction of seeing Mrs. Frink’s face fall.

She pushed a plate of shortbread over to me. “Please have some shortbread, although it’s not nearly as delightful as your pie. You must please give me the receipt for that pie,” Mrs. Frink said in a strained voice.

She wanted the receipt so that she could make it for the men!

I stood up, knocking my chair back. “That receipt is a family secret.”

Mrs. Frink wrung her hands. “Miss Peck, please forgive me. This is not what I had intended. This is going very badly indeed. Please, let us be friends. I know how hard it has been with you, and your unfortunate history with Mr. Baldt, and—”

I didn’t want this woman’s pity! “I do not appreciate your gossiping about me behind my back,” I said tightly. “Please excuse me. I find that I have lost my appetite.”

And with that, I walked quickly from the cabin.

Later that afternoon as I was cutting out biscuits for supper, the door banged open.

“I don’t know where Mrs. Frink is,” I said irritably, not looking up.

“Wasn’t looking for Mrs. Frink,” Jehu said dryly. “I was looking for you.”

“I’m making supper,” I said in a dogged voice.

And then without any explanation, he grabbed my hand and tugged me out the door.

“Jehu,” I protested.

He just shook his head, and held my hand more tightly with his warm one. He led me along the curving beach in the opposite direction from where the Frinks were constructing their hotel, and the farther we walked away from the encampment and Mrs. Frink’s influence, the calmer I felt. The wind whipping off the water cooled my temper.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” he said mysteriously.

We rounded a bend along the bay, and there it was: a rich, green vista, mountains rising high above, sheltering the land like a cove. He led me up a rocky cliff to stand on the edge.

“What do you think?” he asked. He swept his hand in front of
him, at the warm afternoon light dancing across the bay. Water stretched out in all directions, and the sound of soft waves lapping against the shore was comforting, like Brandywine’s snore. A sparkling stream ran down one side of the cliff.

It was perfect, perhaps the most perfect spot on the bay.

“It’s lovely.”

He grinned, the scar in his cheek crinkling. “I thought so,” he said in a very self-satisfied voice.

I peered over the edge of the cliff. “It is a bit high.”

He raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “You’re afraid of heights?”

I nodded. “Although, when I was a little girl, my playmate Jebediah Parker and I used to run along the rooftops, spitting at men passing far below.”

“You? Spit?” he asked, a look of pure astonishment on his face.

“I was very good at spitting. There were men who walked around Philadelphia all day long who never even knew that they had great gobs of spit on their hats.” I couldn’t help it; I giggled.

Jehu roared in laughter, the sound goading me into remembrance.

“We were fearless, just running along the roofs. It was a whole different world.”

“So when did you become afraid of heights, then?” he asked, puzzled.

“One spring day a gentleman we spat on was so furious that he chased us halfway across Philadelphia. And just when we
thought we’d escaped him, he appeared on the roof, brandishing a cane at us. I was so startled that I lost my balance and slipped.”

Jehu’s expression silently encouraged me to continue.

“I fell, but I grabbed onto the ledge, and just hung on. The man came over and hauled me up, but only after letting me dangle there for what seemed like forever, wondering whether or not I was going to fall to my death.”

I swallowed hard, remembering the sheer terror of hovering above the street, my fingers grappling the loose bricks. “After he finally pulled me up, he took one look at my white face and said in a satisfied voice, ‘I don’t think you’ll be spitting on hats anymore.’”

Jehu whistled through his teeth.

“And he was right,” I said with a weak smile.

“Oh, Jane,” Jehu said, taking my shoulders in his hands and looking at me, his eyes so clear with … what? Worry for the little girl who had once been fearless? But it didn’t matter, because all at once I remembered the feel of his lips against mine as we danced beneath a starry sky mere months ago. He had held me then, too, his hands warm about my waist, and we were spinning, spinning, spinning—

“I’ve put in a claim,” he said abruptly.

“Oh,” I said.

“I was thinking I’d build a house right here. I know you like to look at the bay.”

I looked into the eyes of this quiet, sturdy, dependable man, and now saw his desire to please me so clearly on his tanned face.

“It’s going to have a balcony on the water.” He leaned into me, his arms at my waist now, his body warm. “And there’ll be steps leading to the beach.” He leaned even closer, his breath tickling my ear. “And there’s a grove of trees with a slope just on the edge of the property line.”

The wind seemed to blow gently, like a sigh, humming between us. And to think that I had once turned him away because of William Baldt, a man who wanted to marry me to get more land!

“Jehu,” I said, tugging his head down to mine.