A Bride for Noah

by Lori Copeland

  “Pleased, I’m sure.” Evie nodded a greeting to each lady. “How pleasant to have company on the first part of our journey. Will you travel with us all the way to Charleston?”

  The women turned startled expressions on Miles, whose hearty laugh filled the carriage. “Most assuredly,” he replied. “They will accompany us all the way to Oregon Territory.”

  “Oh?” Evie frowned. Was Miles doing as his nephew asked and delivering a wagonload of women? A warm flush crept from her collarbone toward her cheeks as she glanced again at her traveling companions. They didn’t look like fancy women of loose morals.

  “They are to be your employees, my dear.”

  Evie’s glance returned sharply to Miles. “My employees?”

  “We will need staff to help us,” he explained. “There will be a lot of work to get things going in our restaurant, and we cannot count on help from anyone else. The men have work to do in cutting down trees and splitting logs, or”—he waved a hand vaguely in the air—“whatever lumberjacks do.”

  A wave of irritation washed over her. The story was a thinly veiled excuse to answer his nephew’s jesting request to bring women to the isolated lumber camp. Perhaps these three were not fancy women—she didn’t think so—but they were women. What had Noah Hughes’s letter said? If Miles brought women, he would have the admiration of the camp. Evie’s teeth clamped firmly together.

  If she were to have employees, she preferred to select them herself. Beyond that, she could not afford the expense. She clutched the handle of her travel bag, which contained her carefully detailed lists. Tasks to be accomplished, supplies to be purchased, projected initial costs and ongoing operating expenses. There was no room on her lists or in her budget for employees.

  She cleared her throat. “The cost of wages—”

  Another wave of Miles’s hand cut her off. “We will go over that. After all, we have a long journey ahead of us. Plenty of time to discuss the details.”

  Evie bit back a heated reply. He was, after all, responsible for the major part of funding this venture. If he thought they needed employees, then he would simply have to pay for them. But at the first opportunity she intended to inform him that running the restaurant, including directing the work of any employees, would be her domain. On that she would insist.

  With an effort, she relaxed her grip on the bag. When they stopped for the night, she would update her lists.

  May 12, 1852

  Elliott Bay, Oregon Territory

  Noah was running a tally when Arthur approached from the direction of camp.

  “How does it look?” Arthur dipped his head toward the ledger in Noah’s hands.

  Noah finished his second count of the felled and cleared trees along the shoreline and recorded the results before answering. “It will be close. We have one week before this shipment is due to leave, so there’s still time. We’d better pray the weather cooperates, though.”

  Both men’s glances traveled upward to the cloud-filled sky. They were high clouds, thank the Lord, and white enough not to be a threat. At least not today.

  Behind them, the rip, rip, rip of a saw played a rhythmic background to the chopping sound of multiple axes chewing into wood. The break in the rain had improved morale somewhat, and the men were finally working with something that approached their former enthusiasm. Or it could be the approaching deadline that boosted their flagging efforts. Once the timber was delivered to San Francisco and the initial payment had been made, they would all receive their promised pay. Though what they intended to do with it, Noah couldn’t imagine. There was nothing to spend it on out here, and the second installment of lumber was due to ship a mere six weeks later. That left no time for traveling to any of the nearby cities to release pent-up energy. At least, Noah hoped no one intended to leave. If they lost even two men now, meeting their next deadline would become impossible.

  “David and I have been talking about the delivery.” Arthur lifted one booted foot and planted it on the nearest log. “We’d like you to handle things down in San Francisco.”

  “Me?” Noah frowned. “Don’t you think you should be the one to deliver the first shipment? After all, you worked out the contract.”

  Arthur’s face contorted, his lips cocked sideways and his eyebrows drawing together to form a single ridge. Finally he gave a sheepish grin. “Mary prefers that I stay here.”

  A laugh stirred in Noah’s belly, but he deemed it wise to stifle it. Arthur was a strong, proud man, and admitting that he would bow to his wife’s wishes must have galled him. “David volunteered to go,” Arthur continued, “but I think it best he stay here. The men look up to him.”

  Noah saw the wisdom in that. Arthur was a natural leader, but David worked side by side with the men. He was a part of them in a way Arthur was not. If anyone could convince them to continue working after the first shipment was on its way, it was David. The Denny brothers were beginning to make a name for themselves in these parts.

  “Well, of course I’ll go. Glad to do it.”

  Arthur clapped him on the back. “Good man. I know I can count on you to handle things. Probably better than I would myself.”

  As Arthur left, Noah stood straighter, his spirits high. It felt good to have earned the trust of a man like Arthur Denny.

  A moment later, another thought occurred to him. If Arthur was an acknowledged leader and David accepted by the men as a fellow worker, Noah knew himself to be somewhere in between. He had felled his share of trees at the outset of this venture, and he fancied he had gained the respect of the hardworking men in camp. But Arthur had quickly recognized that his strengths lay in his mind more than his back and reassigned Noah to the role of ink slinger, in charge of the business end of things.

  In other words, his role was important, but when it came to the actual work, he was probably the most expendable man in the camp.

  A fact Noah intended to change.

  Four

  June 3, 1852

  San Francisco, California

  Evie hurried out of the hotel onto the busy street. She was late for her meeting with the greengrocer, and her insides were a jangle of nerves. Tardiness was a sign of unprofessionalism, something she abhorred. Since their arrival in San Francisco, Miles had made a habit of sauntering into appointments fifteen or twenty minutes after the scheduled time, and she felt the indifference reflected badly on her. They were, after all, partners.

  If I am late, it might teach him a lesson. Let him sit alone in the back office with Mr. Langley popping in every few minutes to see if I have arrived yet.

  The problem was that neither Miles nor Mr. Langley would wait before conducting their business. They would proceed with the meeting whether she was there or not, and that rankled. Though Miles constantly proclaimed that they were equal partners in this venture, every supplier with whom they met spoke almost exclusively to him. They clearly preferred to deal with a man, and the knowledge chafed. Several times she’d been forced to insert herself into the negotiations in order to stop Miles from making poorly thought-out decisions.

  She increased her pace. A busy crew unloaded cargo from a newly arrived schooner, stacking a pile of crates along the wooden pier. When she passed, one of the sailors paused in his efforts to whistle. His mates responded with laughs and a few calls in her direction. Though she had grown accustomed to the inappropriate behavior of the men who worked the pier, a blush still warmed her cheeks. Did James behave thusly when a woman passed by back in Chattanooga? She highly doubted it. Men in the East seemed to have more manners than those she had encountered in California. She kept her face pointed straight ahead and marched past without the slightest acknowledgment.

  To her right lay the town, a collection of closely built wooden buildings that housed a variety of businesses, most of which she had visited since their arrival two weeks before. Every café and diner in San Francisco had been inspected, even if she’d been able to afford nothing more than a cup of coffee and a roll. She
paid attention to everything—the table settings, the service, the variety of offerings on the menus. A mental image of her restaurant took shape and solidified daily.

  As often as not, Sarah and Lucy accompanied her. During the two-month sea voyage and arduous trek across Panama she’d grown fond of the Burrows sisters, and increasingly irritated with Miles for his dealings with them. Though pleased to discover that they were not girls of loose morals, she worried that their expectations would not be met. Miles had promised they would find husbands in Oregon Territory, and that was the only reason they had agreed to come. Ethel too, though she had suffered with such a terrible case of seasickness that Evie didn’t have as much opportunity to talk with her as with Sarah and Lucy.

  Of course there was nothing to prevent them from finding husbands among the lumberjacks in Oregon Territory. In a place where men outnumbered women in huge amounts, surely even homely Ethel—

  Cheeks warming, this time with guilt, Evie stopped from completing the thought. No doubt Ethel possessed many fine qualities that a man would find desirable in a wife. For instance, in the past two weeks as she regained the strength lost during the miserable sea voyage, she’d shown signs of a wicked sense of humor.

  Distracted by trying to assemble a mental list of Ethel’s finer qualities, Evie entered Mr. Langley’s establishment. A bell jangled above the door, drawing the attention of the clerk, a young man bent over a crate of tomatoes. He rose and cast an inquiring glance her way, wiping his hands on a stained white apron.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Langley. I believe he is expecting me.” She glanced around the small shop, but saw no sign of the proprietor.

  The boy jerked his head toward a door on the rear wall. “He’s in the office wi’ a gen’lman.”

  It seemed Miles had been on time for once. “Thank you.”

  The clerk looked like he might stop her as she made her way toward the office, but then shrugged and returned to his tomatoes. Evie gave a quick rap on the door with gloved knuckles and entered without waiting for an invitation.

  “Gentlemen, please forgive—”

  She fell silent when she caught sight of the man seated in the small room with Mr. Langley. It was not Miles. A much younger man rose from the spindly chair and fixed his gaze on her. Chagrin settled over her. She had interrupted a meeting with someone else.

  Flustered, she took a backward step. “Pardon my intrusion. I thought you were my…”

  The words died on her lips, snatched by a sudden confusion. Did she know this man? He had a familiar look about him. High cheekbones, a finely shaped nose, and a thatch of dark hair. Perhaps she had seen him in a café, or on the street?

  Thick eyebrows rose. “Your what?”

  “My…” Her tongue was possessed by an unaccountable awkwardness. She cleared her throat. “My business partner.”

  Mr. Langley had also risen. “He has not yet arrived.”

  “I’m sorry to have interrupted.” Evie turned to exit. “I will wait outside.”

  The young man stopped her with a raised hand. “Please don’t go. We were merely passing the time. Our business is concluded.” He looked at Mr. Langley and nodded. “I’ll expect the shipment to be delivered to the pier by nightfall in two days’ time. We sail at sunrise the next morning.”

  She settled into the chair he had vacated. The man’s ship sailed at the same time as the Commodore, the one she and Miles had hired to take them and their supplies to Elliott Bay. On the other hand, San Francisco was a busy port town. No doubt many ships arrived and left at the same time.

  “Agreed.” Mr. Langley nodded, and his gaze slid to Evie. “I’m afraid this means I will not be able to supply the full shipment we discussed, my dear.”

  Evie stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Due to weather, some of my larger deliveries have been delayed.” The man spread his hands. “I only have so much produce on hand, and I’ve just sold half of it.”

  She looked at him in dismay. “But we had an agreement.”

  A smile spread across the man’s lips as he patted a canvas bag resting on the corner of his desk. The clink of coins was clearly audible. “But he had the funds.”

  “What do you mean? My partner has paid you.”

  Mr. Langley laughed coldly. “I’ve had nothing but talk from that one as yet.”

  She reeled back in the chair. Miles had not paid the man? He had assured her he’d settled the financial arrangements with all the suppliers with whom they’d met in the past two weeks. Would this happen again? Would the dry goods she needed be sold out from under her too?

  Indignation stole over her. She rose and stood squarely in front of Mr. Langley on her side of the desk. “This is outrageous.”

  He waved off her protest. “I’ll still be able to cover half of your order. Potatoes, onions, and lettuce are all good. It’s the oranges, peaches, and tomatoes that’ll be short.”

  No fruit meant no pies, no marmalade. And no tomatoes? How could she run a restaurant without tomatoes? It would be a disaster.

  The younger man cleared his throat. “I’ll be going now.”

  “No, wait!” Evie whirled and covered the space between them in two swift steps. Perhaps if she explained her situation. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “I need that produce for my business. Without it I will be understocked for the first few months of operation, which are critical to my success.”

  Sympathy flashed across his features. Her hopes rose, only to deflate again when he spoke.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.” He ducked his head in farewell and made as if to leave again.

  Panic clenched her stomach. This was Miles’s fault. Why hadn’t he followed through with his responsibilities? But regardless of blunder, the success of her restaurant was about to walk out the door. She couldn’t let that happen. She whirled to confront the man about to depart. “I’ll buy them from you. Name your price.” It would serve Miles right if he had to pay twice what the produce was worth.

  The man shook his head. “I need those supplies too. I’ve got a crew of hungry men to feed.”

  Frustration erupted as she sensed her plans crumbling. She stomped a foot on the wooden floor, her hands clenching into fists. “But you don’t understand. You’ll be the ruin of me before I even begin.”

  The full, dark eyebrows rose again, and disapproval shone in his blue eyes. “Madam, there is nothing to understand. This is a business arrangement, not a personal vendetta. I suggest you speak with your partner. Perhaps he can explain the error to you.”

  Heat kindled in her chest and erupted into her face. From his condescending tone, the implication was clear. She, a mere woman, couldn’t understand the intricacies of business without a man to explain it in language simple enough for her to grasp. Well, Miles did have some explaining to do, but it wasn’t about the nature of business arrangements. And this arrogant young man could use a lesson in the abilities of an independent woman like herself.

  She drew herself up to her full height, trying to ignore the fact that even so the top of her head came only to his nose. “I assure you, sir, that I am capable of comprehending an agreement between two professional people of business.” She cast a disdainful look toward Mr. Langley. “I am proposing such an arrangement. You have the supplies I require. I will purchase them from you at your price.”

  A brittle smile twisted the trim lips. “And I am afraid I must decline your proposition. Good day, madam.”

  With that, he left the office. Evie stood staring after him, her breath coming hard in her chest. Mr. Langley’s soft chuckle so infuriated her that she dared not look his way lest she say something that would endanger the transaction for the rest of her supplies.

  The bells on the outer shop door jingled. Should she go after him and try once again to persuade him to sell her the fruit she needed? Then she heard a familiar voice.

  “Noah!” exclaimed Miles. “Good to see you, my boy! What are you doing here? I thought you were tucked away
in the wilds of Oregon Territory.”

  Whatever answer the man spoke was lost to Evie, whose thoughts clamored in her mind. The arrogant man who had stolen half her supplies was Noah Hughes, Miles’s nephew. No wonder his looks were familiar. Now she recognized the family resemblance to his uncle. That meant the ship that sailed in three days’ time, the one he would sail on, was the same one that would take them to Elliott Bay and the settlement where she would open her restaurant.

  The men Noah needed to feed were the same men she hoped would frequent her restaurant.

  Leaving Mr. Langley behind, she stepped out into the shop to find Miles and his nephew shaking hands vigorously. Miles caught sight of her and his face brightened even further.

  “There you are, Evangeline. You’ll never guess who I’ve just run into. This is Noah, my nephew, the very one we are joining. Noah, let me introduce Evangeline Lawrence, my partner in a venture I think you’ll find quite interesting.”

  Noah turned and his earlier smile faded.

  At least she had the satisfaction of seeing that he was as stunned as she.

  “No, I do not understand. You told me you would handle the finances, and I expected you to uphold your end of the bargain.”

  Noah kept his eyes fixed on the mug resting in front of him, though he was keenly aware that across the table creases had formed in Evangeline Lawrence’s high forehead.

  “And I shall, my dear. Don’t worry.” Uncle Miles reached out and gave her hand a paternalistic pat, a gesture Noah would not have dared. Judging from the fire blazing in the young woman’s eyes, he risked pulling back a bloody stump.

  “Do not patronize me, Miles.”

  No, this woman would not tolerate being patronized. Everything in her bearing said so, from the rigid set of her spine to the way she thrust her delicate jaw forward. Her shapely lips formed a hard line.