Though he'd often spoiled her, her father always had her best interest at heart and had done his best to raise her after her mother's death. Unlike most men of the time, he'd considered Kate an equal and he'd always been honest with her, no matter the consequences doing so would bring.
Too bad she couldn't say the same thing about Jake.
Kate quietly walked among the customers perusing the shelves and display tables. She would focus on purchasing the material she needed so she could then return to the hotel and get out of the dress Jake had bought for her.
This time she'd leave it on the floor.
"Can I help you find something, ma'am?" asked a man standing behind the counter. His eyes and smile were kind, his beard neatly trimmed, and beneath his buttoned black vest his shirtsleeves bore the crisp lines of recent ironing.
"I'm looking for fabric," she replied. "Also buttons and thread."
"Follow me," he answered pleasantly. He stepped from behind the counter and walked her to a small table that held three bolts of material—one navy, one red-and-white checked, and one with a floral pattern on a pink background. Beside them sat a bolt of white muslin and several wicker baskets of notions.
Kate ran her palm along the nearest bolt. The cotton felt rough against her skin and made her appreciate again the times long ago when she'd worn silk, satin, and velvet.
"We've only got a few basics right now," he said, giving her an apologetic shrug. "I'm expecting one final shipment of goods before winter sets in, but I'm sorry to say it's food staples such as flour and sugar, seed packets, and a few tools. By late next spring I should have many more choices."
Kate shook her head. "I can't wait that long. These will work perfectly for what I have in mind."
His stare grew curious. "I haven't seen you around town before. Are you new here?"
"I arrived last week," she said, then braced for a repeat of the conversations on the street.
"Well then," he said, smiling broadly. "I'd like to congratulate you on surviving the journey. Did you travel across the oceans or by trail?"
"Trail," she replied, returning his smile with one of her own. She appreciated his acknowledgment of the kinship they, and so many others settling the west, shared. Each had risked everything to travel to an unknown land, an act that took a special type of courage.
"I came by ship myself, just last year. I'm Albert Wilson, and I co-own this establishment with my partner, George LeBreton."
"I'm Katherine Davis," she said.
"Welcome to Oregon City, Katherine Davis." He bowed low before her, then rose again and eyed a customer waiting at his counter. "I'll leave you to your shopping, but if you need anything you let me know."
"Thank you."
After he walked away, Kate began a careful evaluation of each bolt of fabric. She immediately dismissed the red-and-white checked option as one better suited for curtains and tablecloths. Besides, she didn't have the sewing expertise needed to match a strong pattern across seams. The navy was the softest of the three, yet it had no pattern to disguise the mistakes she knew she would make. Every slipped knot and puckered seam would show.
She tucked the last option—pink, with a pattern of hundreds of miniature blue daisies with green stems amidst a scattering of tiny maroon dots—under her arm. She dug through the nearest basket until she found a set of twenty white buttons. Thread selection was easy since the choice was either black or white; she opted for three spools of the latter.
She gave the other baskets of notions a cursory glance, recognized nothing, and recalled a phrase her mother had been fond of—sing a simple song well. Kate knew how to cut fabric and sew straight seams; better to do those well and make a passable dress than to also attempt fancy overlays or attaching ribbons and other adornments, and ultimately make a mess of the entire thing.
Adding the bolt of muslin to the one already under her arm, she headed to the counter. Two customers were ahead of her, leaving her eyes and mind plenty of time to wander.
Could she realistically open a competing mercantile? Albert and his partner were already established in town and poised to expand once stocking the shelves wasn't a problem. Judging by the steady stream of customers through the door since she'd arrived, they also had a loyal clientele base.
She didn't even have a building.
Again, she considered her mother's favorite phrase. Starting a mercantile meant long hours, uncertain profits, and competing against two men who already had a strong foothold in the community. On the other hand, she knew plenty about the business of horses, and if she could get the land she needed, she was more than capable of starting a ranch from the ground up.
The desire to fight for a dream that wasn't hers was fading fast.
"Find what you needed?" Albert asked as she placed her selection on the counter.
"Yes, thank you."
She told him the yardage amounts she wanted and watched as he placed the pink bolt on the counter and flipped it several times to create a mound of loose fabric. Holding the cut end in his right hand, he extended his right arm out straight, and brought the uncut fabric to the end of his nose with his left hand.
"One," he said softly, then repeated the action six additional times, and then twice with the muslin.
"Fastest way I've found to measure a yard of fabric," he said, grinning at the curious look she gave him. "I've perfected it to within a quarter of an inch. I could get out the yardstick and give you the exact amount, but I figure if you get a few extra inches and I save a few minutes doing it this way, we're both happy."
"I agree," she replied.
"How would you like to pay for these today?" Albert asked, reaching for his ledger and pen.
Embarrassment colored her cheeks as she realized since she'd started out her morning with the intention of sharing a walk with Jake, not making purchases, she'd hadn't brought along her father's pocketbook.
"I'm so sorry. It seems I've left my money back at the hotel. My father owned a mercantile back home in Virginia, and he allowed purchases on credit. Perhaps you would consider doing the same in this instance?"
Albert frowned. "Your father owned a mercantile back east?"
"Yes. I was in charge of bookkeeping, but he handled everything else. If you prefer, I could run back to the hotel and return right away with the money I owe?"
"Is your father here with you, intending on opening a mercantile in this town?" He studied her closely as he waited for her answer.
"No," Kate said. "He died along the way, about a hundred miles past Independence."
His expression changed from suspicion to sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that."
Albert flipped open the ledger to a page with the words Credit Given at the top, and then methodically entered a description of her items, their prices, and the total amount owed. He then wrapped everything she'd bought in brown paper and tied the package with coarse string.
As a child, she'd loved to help her father wrap customer's purchases in similar paper, and then place her chubby finger against the string to hold it in place while he'd tied the knot. Her special job had been to carefully snip off the excess string and hand the package to the customer, making certain to smile and say thank you.
Albert folded his hands together, rested them on the counter, and gave her a long look. "Are you married?"
Kate shook her head.
"What do you intend to do out here?"
"Why do you ask?" she replied warily.
"I've had to travel to Champoeg quite a lot these last few months, and as a result we've fallen behind on our accounting. Given how your father's passing likely left you without a solid plan for your future, and we're hoping to have more customers than we can handle, maybe next spring you'd be interested in occasionally filling in as a sales clerk?"
Kate felt as though a huge burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Even if she didn't accept Albert's job offer, she felt confident that he would jump at the chance to buy every wagonload of supplie
s already in route to her and her nonexistent store.
"It's an interesting proposition, and one I'll definitely consider. Do you need an answer right away?"
Albert chuckled. "Take your time. We're not going anywhere."
"Thank you for your kindness," she said, smiling as he handed over her package.
She headed back to the door, a newfound confidence to her stride. She'd overcome everything traveling the trail had brought upon her and now, by Jake's own admission, she was adept at handling herself with men who got too persistent. And if Saturday's visit to the land office confirmed she couldn't get her land, Albert's job offer meant she at least had a way of earning a living.
Oregon City might not be such a rough place after all.
After closing the mercantile door behind her, she made her way down the boardwalk steps and halfway down the alley, where she nearly collided with one of the men Jake had warned her about earlier—Cyrus Montgomery.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Wilting Flower on a Strong Stem
"Oh, I'm sorry," Kate said, deftly avoiding Cyrus's hand hovering near her shoulder as if to steady her. "I didn't see you there."
"Hello again, pretty lady." Cyrus's smile revealed three rotted teeth amidst a wide expanse of pink gums. His thinning black hair was neatly combed, a sharp contrast to his scraggly beard.
She took a step back to put space between them.
"Hello," he repeated, then fumbled the bottom of his shirt into his waistband, smoothed the lapels of his faded coat, and puffed out his chest.
Kate was well familiar with the ways of men who wanted to impress. During her twenty-first year of age, her aunt had sent fifteen men to her father's store to meet her. One week alone she'd sent three. Aunt Victoria had been determined to find Kate a suitor she deemed acceptable, though often the size of a man's bank account swayed her into overlooking that he was twenty years or more Kate's senior.
They'd been easy for Kate to spot; they either wandered aimlessly until finally asking her for help, or lingered at the counter making idle conversation. They typically requested she accompany them on a stroll about town, smiled politely when she refused, and then left.
She'd simply exchange a few false pleasantries with Cyrus, then be on her way.
"It's such a nice day." She gazed at the sky for a moment before returning her attention to the simpleton standing before her. "Though, given the way those clouds are darkening, it looks like more rain again soon. I need to be going now; enjoy the rest of your day."
She took another step back, spun around, and came face-to-chest with Murray. Jake had warned her the two traveled as a pair, but she'd been so occupied with Cyrus she hadn't even heard Murray's approach.
"You should watch where you're walking," he said, running his thumbs up and down the length of his suspenders while giving her an appraising stare.
"As should you," she replied.
Taking full advantage of his stunned disbelief at her response, Kate slipped between the two men and hurried toward the street. She made it two steps before they caught up.
"Why you rushing off so fast?" Cyrus asked, lengthening his stride to match her progress.
"Yeah," Murray added. "You almost hurt our feelings." He was so close Kate could see the oily sheen covering his beet-red cheeks. "We was just trying to have a conversation with you."
Kate's boot caught the edge of her skirt and she stumbled, dropping her package. She bent to retrieve it, but Cyrus was faster.
"What do we have here?" he asked, ripping a hole in the paper and peering inside.
Kate reached to snatch her package from his hand, but he lifted it into the air above his head. She couldn't have reached it even if she'd jumped.
"What's in it?" Murray asked.
"Don't know. You tell me," Cyrus said, tossing it into the air above Kate's head.
Murray caught it and glanced inside. "Nothing good. Just some frilly things."
"I'm done playing games with you two," Kate said, hoping the hard edge in her tone would show the men she was serious. "I'll take my property and be on my way."
She held out an expectant hand, grimacing to see it tremble.
"You can have it back." Murray grinned and swung her package around until it was hidden behind his back. "For a kiss."
"Me too." Cyrus stroked his cheek with his filthy fingertips. "You can put mine right here."
Several furtive glances around the secluded alley convinced Kate to abandon her quest for the fabric's return and flee to the safety of the street. While both men were belly-laughing over their perceived cleverness, Kate slowly slid her hands down the front of her skirt. Once she'd gathered and lifted several folds, she bent at the waist, shuffled backward several steps, then straightened and ran from the alley.
Angry shouts and thumping footsteps followed.
She made it just past the empty hitching posts in front of the mercantile before they caught up with her again. This time Murray positioned himself directly before her while Cyrus sidled in behind, effectively pinning her in place.
To her dismay, a glance through the glass pane of the mercantile door revealed no customers inside and a handwritten note with the words Out to Lunch hung from the doorknob.
"Move aside," she said coldly.
"Now don't be like that, sweetheart," Murray said, inching closer. Kate's stomach roiled as the rancid stench of whiskey and onions assaulted her nostrils. "Me and Cy was just thinking since Jake ain't around we should all get to know each other better."
She wasn't fooled. These men had the same plans for her now as Henrick had once had for her back in the deep woods of the trail. And this time Jake wasn't there to save her.
"I'm not your sweetheart, and I want you both to leave me alone!" Kate almost didn't recognize her own voice, so high and shrill.
The street was deserted, but she thought she saw movement at the doorway of the blacksmith's workshop.
"A sweet young thing like you reminds me of an unbroken horse that needs to be taught a few lessons." Murray ran his fingers along her cheekbone and then leaned in close. "And I'm just the man to tame you."
Infuriated by the intimate gesture and words, Kate shoved his hand away. "Don't touch me!"
"You're feisty," Cyrus muttered in her ear, then slid his arm around her waist and pulled her roughly against him. "I like that in a woman."
"Hey!"
Kate turned to see Travers standing just outside of his shop, holding an iron rod with a red-hot tip in his gloved hand. "What's going on over there?"
He waited for an answer, which she valiantly tried to give, but she managed only a garbled scream of panic.
Travers shouted over his shoulder into his shop and then hurried toward her, his leather apron slapping against his legs with each step. Seconds later, a herd of angry men burst from his doors. They followed at his heels, then fanned out in a circle around Kate and the men.
"What's going on here?" Travers repeated, slapping the rod against his palm.
Kate took advantage of the momentary distraction Travers's question provided by planting the toe of her boot squarely between Murray's legs. Hard.
His face went pale and he dropped to the dirt, writhing in pain.
Kate fought her way free from Cyrus's grip and whirled to face him. "Animal!"
Cyrus's eyes widened as he finally noticed the steady stream of men spilling from nearby doorways and rushing toward them, presumably to come to Kate's aid. He raised his palms and started sputtering excuses and apologies for his behavior.
Ignoring his feeble backtracking, Kate leaped into the air and slapped her cupped palms against his ears.
With a howl of pain, Cyrus bent at the waist, clutching his ears and vowing revenge.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Blustering
You should be even more ashamed that you're a liar.
Kate's last words echoed in Jake's head long after he watched her enter the mercantile and close the door behi
nd her. He'd been having such a wonderful time on their walk until Emily had stumbled over and ruined everything.
How could he face Kate again? He'd lied, and she'd caught him. Even worse, given her perceptive words to him about his potential past, she would have forgiven him if he'd simply come clean.
Knowing she needed time to calm down before she'd listen to reason—or pleading—Jake headed toward the livery to fetch his horse instead of following her into the mercantile. His bag was packed. He might as well leave town and scout land for the rest of the day. Or longer.
At the livery he greeted the caretaker, a young man named Mark. They held another conversation about the care his two horses and Kate's four were getting, and if there'd been problems with any. Again satisfied with the boy's answers, he walked down the hay-scattered aisle, stopping at the last two stalls on the left. He greeted Plug, slipped a bridle and blanket onto Nickel, and then brought him out of the livery.
Instead of stopping at the hotel to grab his saddle and packed saddlebags, he led his horse to the end of the street and onto the next. By now Kate would likely be done shopping. Hopefully her arms would be loaded with purchases, which would provide him the perfect excuse to offer to relieve her burden. Escorting her back to the hotel would give him ample time to apologize for his deceit.
He kept walking, and while he passed the saloon he made certain his hat brim was pulled low and his eyes were focused on the ground. He had no intention of coming face to face with Emily again, today or ever. Once he’d made it safely past the building, he raised his head and saw a surprising sight—men bursting from doors and leaping off the boardwalk to gather in a shouting circle in front of the mercantile.
His step quickened.
As he grew closer, the men gave a collective gasp, followed by a low groan. He tied Nickel to the closest hitching post and hurried to the edge of the crowd. When he was still several yards away he caught a glimpse of Murray's bald head hitting the ground.
Tainted Dreams Page 13
