Boston Jane

by Jennifer L. Holm

Chief Toke shook his head. “Lumpechuck.”

  “What is lumpechuck?” I whispered to Mr. Swan.

  Mr. Swan leaned over to me. “I’m afraid, my dear, that it is rum and water. Grog,” he whispered. “The white men introduced it to the Indians, and while it is now illegal some of them haven’t lost the taste for the spirit.”

  The Indians weren’t the only ones, I wanted to say, but I held my tongue.

  “Lumpechuck,” Chief Toke repeated.

  Suis sighed heavily. I thought of all the men in Philadelphia that Papa had treated and of Mr. Swan’s latest trouble, and it seemed a shame that the pioneers had brought their bad habits to the Indians. Suis’s eyes met mine across the fire, and I could tell she had the very same opinion.

  M’Carty and Chief Toke argued back and forth for some time. Finally Suis suggested they gamble to settle the dispute. M’Carty agreed.

  “They’re going to gamble?” I asked. It hardly seemed a proper way to conduct business.

  “Toke and M’Carty are great gamblers,” Mr. Swan said, and he chuckled. “It’s quite commonplace for people around here to settle disputes this way, my dear.”

  “What is the game?”

  “They’re going to play la-hull,” Mr. Swan said. “It’s a game of chance.”

  M’Carty and Chief Toke went at it with a vengeance, using discs with colored edges made from cedar. As they shuffled them around skillfully, Mr. Swan attempted to explain the complicated rules to me. In no time the lodge was filled to capacity with spectators, who cheered on the men with raucous shouts. The men’s hands flew so quickly that I couldn’t follow who was winning. It was hard not to be swept along in the excitement. It was a heady feeling, the notion that my future would be determined by a game of chance. But the whole oyster venture was one big gamble, was it not? As much of a gamble as a young pie-stained girl learning how to become a proper lady. It was, I realized abruptly, a gamble worth taking. Then a thought struck me like a rotten apple.

  What would William say? Would he want his future wife working? How could I even consider such a thing?

  I took a deep breath, considering the possibilities. I needed money. It was hardly proper, but if I had learned anything in this wilderness, it was that the rules must be bent on occasion. After all, I reasoned, if William had been here in the first place I would not be in such a predicament.

  It grew late, and I fought to keep my eyes open. Smoke hung in the air from the pipes. And suddenly, I cannot say why, I was back in our parlor on Walnut Street and I smelled Mrs. Parker’s cherry pie. I heard Papa’s low voice reading “Rip Van Winkle.” Oh, Papa —

  “Time to go to bed, Janey,” Papa said, his eyes smiling.

  I blinked. Papa’s face blurred, and before me was Mr. Swan, his hand on my shoulder, shaking me awake.

  “Time to go home now, Jane,” Mr. Swan said gently.

  “Who won?” I asked, wiping the sleep out of my eyes.

  Mr. Swan grinned jubilantly. “Our man.”

  The three of us walked back to Mr. Russell’s cabin through the still, dark night.

  “My father-in-law felt that we ought to wait several weeks before harvesting the oysters,” M’Carty said.

  I was still amazed that M’Carty had beat Chief Toke at a Chinook game.

  “Why did Suis suggest that the men gamble? Chief Toke could have easily won,” I said.

  Mr. Swan cleared his throat. “I fear it was Toke who was outfoxed. Suis intended from the start to get provisions for her people, not liquor, and in order to do that she had to let her husband keep his dignity. You might say she knew M’Carty was the better player.”

  “You cheated?” I asked M’Carty.

  “Not exactly. Let’s just say my wife taught me some of the same tricks her father taught her,” he said wryly.

  “It worked out in the end for everyone,” Mr. Swan said happily. “Suis got provisions, and we secured help.”

  At last—help for me to supervise! Although Miss Hepplewhite had given no hints on running an oyster business.

  The next morning M’Carty sent word to the schooner Hetty to be in Shoalwater Bay on July fifteenth.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  or,

  The Great Mistake

  The Fourth of July arrived with a cry and a shout, and also with every filthy, foulmouthed, buckskin-clad pioneer in the territory. Mr. Russell had spread the word that there was to be a huge celebration at the encampment and all were welcome, pioneer and Indian alike.

  I’d been up since dawn laying out food, with Suis and Dolly lending a hand.

  “Perhaps your William will show up,” Mr. Swan said, rubbing his beard thoughtfully.

  “Do you really think so?” I hadn’t even considered that William might attend the celebration.

  “Word of your salmonberry pies has spread through the territory.” He winked. “Food is a great attraction to all men.”

  The day was hot and beautiful, and people started to arrive immediately. Mr. Russell and several other men had spent the week before the celebration constructing large, rough tables which had been set up in the clearing in front of the cabin. In no time at all, they were loaded with food brought by the pioneer men and Indians: smoked salmon, geese, boiled ham, bread, roast chicken, potatoes, salted fish, oyster pies, and, of course, barrels of whiskey. As the only young lady present, I received more proposals of marriage by more men in need of a good bath than I care to remember.

  I was slicing a ham when I saw the unmistakable nose ring.

  I could scarcely believe my eyes.

  It was Yelloh. And he was eating a chicken leg.

  “What are you doing here? Where is William?” I demanded.

  He paused mid-bite, looking a little shamefaced.

  “Mr. Swan!” I shouted.

  Mr. Swan wandered over. “Is something wrong, my dear?”

  “Would you please ask Yelloh here what he is doing eating a chicken leg when he is supposed to be looking for William?”

  Yelloh spoke to Mr. Swan.

  “It seems he came back for the party,” Mr. Swan said, bemused.

  “He came back for the—the—party?” What was the matter with this young man? Did he have no good sense?

  “It is a great occasion every year, my dear.”

  Great occasion or not, I was exasperated. I grabbed the chicken leg from Yelloh’s hand and waved it furiously at him.

  “What about William?”

  Mr. Swan turned to Yelloh and asked him a question.

  “He says that William is now somewhere east of here, not far away from all accounts, and he will go and look for him tomorrow.”

  “Does he expect further payment?”

  Swan translated, and Yelloh shook his head.

  “Of course not. He’ll honor your agreement.” He paused. “And I do believe he told you it would take two months,” Mr. Swan said, a gentle rebuke in his voice.

  Still, he ought to be looking for William—not attending a party! I stared at Mr. Swan mutinously.

  Mr. Swan smiled soothingly. “Really, you must have a little faith, my dear. He’ll have your William back in no time at all. Don’t worry. Yelloh is a man of his word.”

  I reluctantly handed back the chicken leg and looked hard at Yelloh, entirely disgusted.

  “Word or not, if he doesn’t return with William I believe I shall be driven to rip out his nose ring!” I shouted, and stormed off.

  In their typical fashion, the men proceeded to drink every drop of liquor in sight.

  By the time it was dark, they were quite rowdy. One clever fellow insisted on dragging everyone out to the cliff near the forest on the north part of the bay, where they constructed an immense bonfire. Mr. Swan was then called upon to give a speech. He stood on a rock, his plump belly outlined by the flickering light of the bonfire, and proclaimed in a booming voice, “Men of Shoalwater Bay, you are making history, forging a new destiny for our great nation!”

  The men applauded with boi
sterous shouts, firing their rifles thunderously. I thought it most unlikely that anything but noise was being made—and certainly not history. No doubt every beast in all creation had fled the territory to escape the racket.

  Someone broke out a fiddle and struck up a lively tune, and soon pioneer men were swinging Indian women about in wild dances. How I envied them! The sight of Yelloh eating that chicken leg had finished the holiday for me. Truly I had had enough of celebrating. No doubt William would never be found. I would be a spinster forever, as Sally Biddle had predicted.

  “Enjoying the festivities, I see.”

  I looked up at the sound of a familiar voice. William?

  “Expecting someone else?” Jehu asked, cradling a slice of pie. He took a bite. “Yours?”

  I nodded. “You’re back?”

  “Got in today. Heard you’ve gone into business with the old man,” he said. There were crumbs on his mouth, which he didn’t bother to brush away, and I had to control my own impulse to reach up and wipe them off.

  “Yes. Oysters.”

  “Good for you! You’re full of surprises.” His hair had grown in the month he’d been gone. Dark curls brushed the nape of his neck.

  I felt suddenly unsure of myself and said in a rush, “It’s just that I need to get fabric for new dresses and—”

  “You don’t have to explain to me.” He rummaged in his sack. “This is for you.”

  He held out a bottle of New England rum.

  “I don’t drink,” I said.

  “It’s not for drinking. It’s for your hair, remember?”

  “Oh.” I took the bottle from him awkwardly.

  The sound of the fiddle seemed to rise above the crowd, singing through the dark night. Brandywine howled and ran in tight circles, chasing his tail.

  “Dog likes the fiddle,” Jehu said, laughing. His warm laughter tickled along my spine.

  “So it seems.”

  “It’s a catchy tune. Want to dance?”

  My stomach flipped in a way that felt very much like seasickness.

  “Dance? I couldn’t possibly.” Respectable young ladies didn’t dance at such wild gatherings … did they?

  Jehu gave a hint of a smile. “Sure you could!” He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the crowd.

  “But but …”—my mind worked furiously—”but I’m not wearing proper dancing shoes!”

  “You’ll survive,” he said, and I swear he sounded just like Papa.

  Before I knew it, he had put his other hand about my waist—my waist!—and was whirling me about. The fiddle sang faster. Jehu was twirling me in circles, and the music was singing through me, the night air tangling in my hair, the world spinning spinning spinning, and I could not stop.

  Jehu smiled at me, and his eyes were like blue sparks in the night.

  He swung me around and around, and I felt a sudden rush of pleasure to be here, under this dark starry sky, dancing. How had I lived my entire life and never felt this dizzying feeling? It was as if I was being swept along, a canoe in the river, plunging headlong into the swift currents, not knowing where the next bend would take me.

  “Having fun?” Jehu yelled.

  Despite myself, I smiled.

  He twirled me again, and as we danced I saw a woman across the crowd being swung about by a burly pioneer. Something about her looked familiar and I struggled to see her through the mass of people, but she kept disappearing in the crowd. And then suddenly she was right in front of me, her dark, grim eyes boring into mine.

  Mary.

  I stumbled.

  “Easy there,” Jehu said, catching me and pulling me up. “You all right?”

  I looked up, but Mary was gone. A dark-eyed Indian woman was in her place.

  “You look pale. Let’s take a rest,” Jehu said, pulling me from the crowd. His arm was warm and comforting.

  He sat me down on a fallen log.

  “What happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

  I laughed shakily.

  Father Joseph walked by and shook his head, his face a mask of disapproval. It was clear he had seen me dancing with Jehu.

  I buried my face in my hands and groaned.

  “Ignore the man, Jane,” Jehu said.

  “How can I? How can I when it’s so obvious that he’s right?”

  “Right about what?”

  “Look at me! Wearing this skirt. Going into business. And now this. Dancing! What is William going to think when he finally arrives?”

  “If he doesn’t love you, he’s a fool,” he said, his voice thick.

  “But he thinks he’s marrying a proper young lady and here I am behaving no better than a common trollop!”

  Jehu grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. “This is the frontier. Look around,” he said urgently. “Just look!”

  I took in the sight in a blink: men in various states of intoxication singing bawdy songs, pioneers swinging Indian women in wild dance steps, the flickering flames of the bonfire dancing against the inky night sky, painting the forest in a blazing glow.

  “This isn’t Philadelphia.”

  “But young ladies ought to be ladies no matter the circumstances,” I protested weakly.

  “There’s no drawing rooms here, and no place for proper young ladies. But there’s plenty of room for gals with grit and courage,” Jehu said. He paused, as if taking my measure. “And you’ve got both.”

  I wanted to say that I had no use for courage and that the last thing I needed on this filthy frontier was grit, but instead I fell silent. Jehu seemed to sense my discomfort, and he looked away. He scratched absently at the scar on his cheek. My hand itched to touch it.

  “What happened to your cheek?” I asked curiously.

  Jehu shrugged, a bruised look in his eyes.

  “Tell me,” I persisted.

  He looked down at his weathered hands. “I was supposed to be a farmer.”

  “You grew up on a farm?” Somehow this seemed impossible.

  “Outside Boston. But ever since I can remember I’ve wanted to sail.”

  I nodded, remembering my girlhood dreams on my four-poster bed in Philadelphia.

  “I’d dream of running away, getting off the farm, and becoming a sailor. We used to bring our harvest to the docks in the city, and I’d spend all afternoon watching the ships go in and out of the harbor. Sometimes I’d hang around the taverns and listen to the sailors tell stories.”

  “So you got the scar in a tavern brawl?” I thought of all those men on our front steps late at night shouting for my papa.

  A fleeting look of pain and regret flashed across his face. “When I was fourteen, I made the mistake of telling my pa what I planned to do. I was the only son and expected to work the farm. Pa got so angry, he just picked up the nearest thing and swung it at me. Horse harness. Sliced me open. I ran away that night, signed on the first ship I could find. The surgeon stitched me up.” He rubbed it, as if acknowledging that the surgeon had done a terrible job.

  “I would have sewn it up perfectly. I won first prize for embroidery at Miss Hepplewhite’s Young Ladies Academy,” I said without thinking.

  His eyes softened.

  The wind shifted subtly, carrying a cool breeze. I was suddenly aware of the darkness pressing down on us. The night was soft as flannel. And all I wanted to do was pull it tight around us for one long moment and forget everything but Jehu. He sat so close I could feel the warmth radiating from him, smell his warm musky scent, of salt and the sea and something else, something that was only Jehu. I looked at his face, his blue eyes bright as the sea he loved.

  “Jane,” he whispered, and then he leaned forward … and kissed me! Me, Jane Peck!

  I could hardly believe the wonder of it all. It was sweeter than Mrs. Parker’s pie. It was belly-shaking laughter and heartbreaking sobs and breathless giggle fits all wrapped up in one long heartbeat that went on and on and on.

  “Sweet Jane,” he said.

  All at once Miss Hep
plewhite’s words came back to me, like a splash of cold water:

  Beware the Great Mistake.

  “Oh no,” I whispered, and pushed Jehu away. What was I doing? Kissing! And Jehu Scudder of all people! Good heavens! Respectable young ladies didn’t go around kissing men, especially not sailors! What was happening to me? Had my good sense been washed out to sea with Mr. Swan’s canoe?

  “Jane?” Jehu asked in a startled voice.

  But I was up and running as fast as I could on legs that felt like rubber. I scrambled through bracken and mud and muck. I had to get away, far away, from the terrible mess I’d made. I had ruined everything! Sally Biddle was right after all. Not only was I going to end up a spinster, but I was going to have draggled petticoats for the rest of my days!

  “Jane, wait!” Jehu called, but I didn’t listen. I just ran. In spite of the massive bonfire it was inky dark along the rocky point, and I could barely see a step in front of me. All I could think was that I had ruined everything, betrayed William, compromised all I’d struggled for with one kiss.

  Beware the Great Mistake.

  “Jane, watch out!”

  Watch out for what? I wondered and then it was as if I had been pushed, my feet going out from under me, and I was tumbling, tumbling down a steep slope. I was tumbling through bushes and bracken, and I could hear the roar of the water echoing far below, but I couldn’t stop, my arms didn’t seem to work, and I heard Jehu shouting my name, fear in his voice, but I couldn’t reassure him, I was too busy falling, faster and faster and there were rocks all around me, and dirt filled my mouth, and the rush of pounding waves, and all I could think was, What bad luck.

  Then everything went black.

  I awoke to the smell of fetid breath and something rough and wet licking my nose.

  Brandywine.

  “Blasted beast,” I whispered weakly, pushing the furry face away. He whined.

  My head was pounding, my mouth felt like wool, and my stomach was rumbling in a most distressing way.

  “Aaah, you’re awake. Thank the maker.”

  The room was horribly bright. I squinted but had trouble focusing on the figure, though I recognized the voice.

  “Mr. Swan?”

  “Yes, my dear.”

  I tried to sit up, but a pair of firm hands gently pushed me back. It was Suis. She smiled at me.