Wilderness Days (9 page)

“I see His Highness is leaving,” a voice at my side said.

It was Jehu, a pack slung over his shoulder, his blue eyes fierce, one thick black curl flopped heartstoppingly over his forehead.

“You were gonna marry that cussed fool?” he asked, shaking his head, disgust in his voice.

I tugged my blanket tighter around me, forcing myself to remember that he was no better than William.

“At least I’m becoming a more skillful judge of character,” I said.

“Jane,” he said, “you’ve got the wrong idea—”

“On the contrary, I understand your intentions perfectly.”

He rubbed his hair in frustration. “Look, I’m heading over to M’Carty’s homestead. He broke his leg and his roof’s only half done, and winter’s on the way. Keer-ukso and I are going to lend a hand. We’ll probably get our meals over there.”

“Your comings and goings are no concern of mine, Mr. Scudder.”

“You’re stubborner than a mule,” Jehu retorted, and then stomped away before I could get another word in.

“Who is he, your admirer?”

I turned to see William perched on his horse. The way he held himself—with such arrogance and self-possession—infuriated me.

“He’s a better man than you’ll ever be,” I said.

“My, you’ve acquired quite a tongue,” William said. His next words were like a blow. “Then again, I imagine it’s from living unchaperoned on the frontier.”

“You’re the reason I’m here, you, you—”

Mr. Swan came bounding over. “Yoo-hoo, William!”

“Cussed fool!” I finished furiously.

“Well, my dear, we really must go!” Mr. Swan interrupted loudly, looking desperately between us. He donned a jaunty-looking cap. “Why don’t you and your men start out, William? Mr. Russell and Chief Toke and I shall be along in a minute.”

William turned his horse and urged it forward without a backward glance.

“He’s horrible,” I muttered, rubbing my stubby patch of hair.

Mr. Swan gave me a strained smile. “It is a very big territory, my dear. I’m sure you won’t have to see him often. And now we must be going.”

“You’re leaving me all alone again?”

Mr. Swan had the good grace to look uncomfortable. The last time he had gone off with Mr. Russell and Chief Toke there
had been a smallpox outbreak. “Well, my dear,” he hedged, “you won’t be alone. Mr. and Mrs. Frink are within shouting distance.”

I stared at the porch floor, focusing on an ant winding its way along the board.

Mr. Swan laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Is something bothering you, Jane? Really, I’m sure you’ll be fine with Mrs. Frink here.”

Was something bothering me?
Yes!
I wanted to shout. I’m tired of blasted Mrs. Frink. I’m tired of everyone ignoring me and taking me for granted and treating me like a maid.

I’m tired of being so utterly alone.

Instead I merely mumbled, “No.” I refused to meet his eyes. I stared down stubbornly at the floor.

“Good girl. If you need anything, just ask—”

“The Frinks,” I finished in a dull voice.

“Don’t forget to milk Burton,” Mr. Russell called, spitting loudly. “Or she’ll bust.”

I hoped she did just that.

Because I had every intention of forgetting to milk the beast.

The sound of Burton’s
mooing woke me with a start.

From the glimmer in the sky it must have been just after dawn. The men had only been gone for a day. I glanced over at the sawbuck table where Sootie’s new doll lay. I had taken advantage of the solitude in the cabin to stay up late the previous night working on a new rag doll for her, and it was very nearly finished.

As I had sewed, I remembered Miss Hepplewhite’s counsel on the Importance of Thinking and Sewing.

“Thinking and Sewing is very useful when one is upset,” she always said.

And to be sure, I was upset. Upset with the intolerable situation in which I found myself. The cabin, now empty with Mr. Russell and Mr. Swan gone to the rendezvous, seemed to close in on me. All I could think of was getting away from this place. My inheritance was in San Francisco, but thanks to Mr. Swan, I had no funds to pay for passage there. It was a vexing situation.

But I couldn’t bear the thought of spending a long cold winter here on the bay, surrounded by strangers and people whom I had not known long enough to trust. In the months I’d been here, everyone had disappointed or betrayed me. Everyone except Sootie, that is. I sewed every bit of frustration into the little doll’s flour sack body, remembering how Papa had patiently taught me to sew.

“Neat stitches never leave a scar, even in dolls,” he told me once with a wink, when he doctored my doll’s torn arm.

My stitches were straight and neat. For stuffing, I had used cut-up pieces of a petticoat that was far beyond repair, and for hair, I used strips of cedar bark twisted in the Chinook style.

I looked at the doll with a sense of satisfaction. It was charming. I was certain Sootie would love it. She had been coming by all day long yesterday, begging to see it. But I told her that she had to wait until it was completed. Now it was nearly finished except for some final touches.

Burton was mooing steadily, constantly, like an annoying, buzzing fly. I had milked the beast the evening before and she had kicked out at me, so I was not looking forward to the dangerous chore again. When it became plain that she would not cease her mooing until she was milked, I relented and got out of bed. Her mooing grew louder as I dressed. It grew thunderous as I braided my hair. I had just finished tying on my apron and was heading out the door when the mooing abruptly stopped. I rounded the corner of the cabin and was met by the most curious sight.

Sitting on the stool, milking the cow by the light of a candle, was the figure of a man, singing companionably to himself. His voice rose like a lullaby on the soft morning breeze.

“Pardon me,” I said.

The man looked up and smiled in a disarming way. He was older, Mr. Russell’s age perhaps, and he wore a black pressed suit and hat, as if he had just stepped off a steamer ship. His gray beard was neatly trimmed, and when he smiled I detected not one trace of tobacco on his teeth.

He stood up smoothly, tipping his hat politely.

“How do ya do, ma’am. Abraham Black. At your service.” His voice was low and throaty.

I was so taken aback that I nearly forgot my manners.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Black,” I said quickly, curtseying slightly. “I’m Miss Jane Peck. Thank you for milking the cow.”

“My pleasure, ma’am,” he said. “Lovely young lady like yourself shouldn’t have to worry about such things.”

My thoughts exactly. I felt a tingle of pleasure at his observation. He was a real gentleman, not some filthy prospecting pioneer. “Did you only just arrive?”

He jerked his head toward the trail that led to the beach. “Schooner came in a little bit ago. From San Francisco.”

“Of course,” I said. I looked over his shoulder at the pale horse tied to the tree. “You brought a horse?”

He laughed, a low laugh that rumbled in the early morning air. “Oh, Sally and I go everywhere.”

“Where are you from?”

“All over, I guess. I don’t like to stay in one place too long.” He winked. “Don’t want to grow moss.”

I smiled. “There’s no shortage of moss here, I’m afraid. It rains quite a bit.”

“I heard there are real good opportunities up this way for a man.”

“Why yes, I suppose so. There is the oystering, and the timber.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes skimming the length of a long tree. “This used to be a fur-trapping area, if I recall correctly?”

“So I understand. The Hudson’s Bay Company had a fur-trapping operation here some years ago.”

“Any trappers around anymore?” The question hung in the air.

I shook my head. “I don’t believe so.”

He seemed to study me. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you have lovely hair, Miss Peck. A real unusual shade of red. Reminds me of a lady I knew a long time ago. She had hair the same color as yours and was pretty as a peach, just like you.”

I blushed. I was so unused to receiving compliments of any kind. Everything about this gentleman—his clean blacked boots, his brushed coat, his neat hat—spoke to me of civilization.

Just then red-bearded Red Charley appeared from nowhere, cradling an armful of stiff-looking, filthy clothes. I could smell them from where I stood.

“Gal!” he barked, ignoring Mr. Black completely.

I was about to tell him that I had no intention of laundering his clothes when Mr. Black stepped smoothly between us, one hand caressing the gun in his holster.

“I don’t believe that’s the proper way to address a young lady,” Mr. Black said in a dangerously low voice.

Charley looked at Mr. Black as if noticing him for the first time and blustered, “Mind your business, mister.”

“I believe you owe Miss Peck an apology,” Mr. Black said firmly, his eyes hard. Charley looked like he wanted to let fly at Mr. Black, but after realizing that the other man was a good head taller than him, and armed, he swallowed hard and said, “Course. I ’pologize, Miss Peck.” And with that he stomped away quickly.

“Thank you,” I said quietly when we were alone again. “I’m afraid that some of the men have been far too long away from civilization.”

“Ladies,” he said, “should always be treated with respect.”

“Would you like to come for supper this evening?” I asked impulsively.

“Really, ma’am, I’m only passing through. I plan to be gone by tomorrow. And I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“It wouldn’t be any trouble, Mr. Black. Honestly. I usually cook for a whole gang of men, but they are all away on business at the moment.”

“No, really—”

“Please,” I begged. “It would be such a delight.”

He nodded a little reluctantly. “Thank you kindly. I’d be mighty pleased to have supper with you, Miss Peck.”

Mr. Black was nowhere to be seen all day, but just as the sun was beginning to kiss the horizon, he appeared at the cabin door.

Brandywine immediately started to growl low in his throat. With his plump little belly, he was hardly the picture of a fierce hound.

“Brandywine! Stop that this instant,” I whispered urgently, embarrassed at the hound’s display. After a moment the dog went over to a corner to stare at us with glowering eyes, his belly pouched under him like a plump cushion.

Mr. Black eyed Brandywine coolly.

“Dogs don’t seem to like me much these days, Miss Peck. They don’t take to traveling men.”

I laughed lightly. “Brandywine barks at everything.”

Mr. Black removed his hat and smiled at me. I couldn’t remember the last time a man had removed his hat for me!

“Animals have their reasons, Miss Peck,” he said in an unconcerned voice, and pulled out my chair with a flourish.

It was wonderful to simply sit and talk to him. He brought a great deal of news from the States and was very interested in my opinions. The deep timbre of his voice, his smiling dark eyes, his very words, seemed to weave a spell in the cabin so that I almost believed I was back in Philadelphia and eating supper with one of Papa’s friends in the dining room on Walnut Street. Papa had been fond of bringing acquaintances home to supper, and we’d had all manner of people dine at our table—judges, physicians, lawyers, even politicians.

“I own a mine back in California. Gold,” Mr. Black said when I inquired as to his occupation.

“Gold. How exciting.”

He fished in his pocket and pulled out a watch. It was a thick gold pocket watch with an intricately worked design of a rose on the casing. It glowed softly in the palm of his hand. “This came from my mine.”

“It’s lovely.”

“And it keeps good time, too.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“What brings you to Shoalwater Bay?” I asked curiously.

“I have some unfinished business up this way.” He stared into the fire. “Loose ends to tie up, you might say.”

It seemed rather rude to pry, so I stood up to begin clearing plates. He was on his feet in a flash, helping me.

“Please, I insist,” I said. “It’s been such a pleasure to have a gentleman in this cabin.” I took the plates from him. His food, I noticed, had barely been touched.

“You don’t usually have gentlemen, then?” Mr. Black asked, a touch of humor in his voice.

“Mr. Black, I think I can say with some assurance that you are the first
gentleman
to set foot in this cabin. No, let me clarify. The first one to set foot on the bay.”

He chuckled.

“No, really,” I said. “There is no end to filthy louts in this part of the country. Why, not last week I was propositioned by a man so that he could obtain land!”

“No!”

“Yes, and I had thought that Jehu was a man of honest intentions, for all that he is a sailor.”

Mr. Black rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “Sailors are nothing but trouble.”

“I couldn’t agree more! And then Mr. Swan just up and abandoned me here in this cabin.” I leaned forward confidingly. “Not that I’m very surprised—he abandoned his own wife and children in Boston.”

“Abandoned his wife, you say?”

“It’s shocking, really.” I plunged on, happy to have a receptive audience. “But the worst of them all is Mr. Russell!”

“Mr. Russell?” A whisper.

“He is the owner of this cabin, and all he does is order me about as if I were a maid,” I said. “And he doesn’t make housekeeping at all easy. Why, I’m forever dodging his tobacco.”

Mr. Black’s eyes shone in the fire glow as he looked about the cabin. “Where is this Russell now?”

I shrugged. “Far from here, thank heavens. He and Mr. Swan have gone to the rendezvous.”

“Rendezvous?”

“Yes. Governor Stevens has called a meeting of all the Indian tribes in this part of the territory. Mr. Swan and Mr. Russell went along to help translate.”