I squinted hard through the pounding rain. It was Jehu!
And the lady he was so gallantly carrying was … Sally Biddle!
“Why, hello, Jane!” Sally said, linking her arm comfortably around Jehu’s tanned neck. Her eyes took in my muddy dress. “Oh dear, did you take a fall?”
Jehu shifted his weight and set her on the ground. Was it my imagination, or did his strong hands linger on her shoulders for a second?
“Isn’t he the perfect gentleman?” Sally tittered, patting her hair with exaggerated care. “There I was on the other side of the street, and there was nothing but mud before me! I couldn’t risk muddying this skirt. And this kind man came to my rescue! I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Scudder,” Sally finished, looking adoringly at Jehu.
Jehu swallowed and nodded.
“I do hope we have the opportunity to meet again,” Sally said, holding out a dainty gloved hand.
Jehu looked at it in confusion for a moment and then shook it.
“Have a lovely day, Jane,” Sally said smugly, and walked up the steps of the hotel.
CHAPTER TEN
or,
The Gathering Storm
Like an unwelcome guest, the rain came and stayed.
Fierce summer storms battered the bay. Front Street turned into a river, with the planks from the walkway floating by on the current. The tides grew so high that returning oystermen could sail right up to a tavern and have themselves a drink. Mrs. Woodley’s home was set adrift one morning when her husband was out, and Mr. Frink and several other men went after it in boats. In order to rescue the cabin, they finally had to tie it to a piling. By this time, poor Mrs. Woodley and her girls were perched on a table, waist-deep in water and perfectly terrified.
The most popular topic at the supper table was the upcoming elections. Of the three races, the position of justice of the peace was the most hotly debated, with Mr. Swan, William, and Red Charley all campaigning for that office. Red Charley had begun going around town handing out free whiskey to encourage votes. Mr. Frink was running for representative to the legislature, as was Mr. Dodd. M’Carty was the lone candidate running for constable, and everyone agreed he was a shoo-in because he was the best shot in the entire territory. Not to mention, no one else wanted the job.
Mrs. Biddle, who seemed personally offended by the wet weather, sat in the parlor complaining. She complained that the shouts of the men returning from drinking in the bowling alley kept her from falling asleep. The air did not agree with her and made her feel weak. The food we served at the hotel was not seasoned properly, and furthermore, the amenities in the rooms were not up to her usual standard. Her chief complaint, however, was the lack of amusements available in Shoalwater Bay.
“There is simply nothing to do here!” Mrs. Biddle declared, flouncing into the parlor in a rather unladylike way.
Finally, after many soggy days, the sun broke out, bathing the bay in glorious light. At the first chance, I fled Mrs. Biddle and the confines of the hotel and headed to the beach to breathe in the warm salty air blowing off the bay. Gulls swooped low, kissing the surface of the water. In the distance the oystermen readied their boats to head out. Farther down the beach Sootie and Katy were looking for treasures that might have washed up on shore from the storms.
Beachcombing was popular here, as many ships had the misfortune to wreck along this treacherous coast. They would become stranded along the bar and smash to bits in the ensuing storms. Sometimes we could see the doomed ships far out at sea, flickers of light in the pounding rain and darkness. The next morning the beach would be littered with wreckage and, sometimes, bodies.
Jehu, as the bay’s pilot, had been designated wreckmaster by the locals. It was his responsibility to decide what to do with cargo washed up on the beach, which was how I had come by my gold silk dress. A bolt of gold silk had been packed in a camphor wood chest that had floated in with the tide. All manner of goods washed up on shore. Candles, casks of wine, sidesaddles, sacks of raisins, and even a piano, which did not, admittedly, play very well after being adrift in the salty water. Several months earlier Mr. Swan had salvaged a cask of whiskey that had drifted to the shore unharmed. It was promptly drunk by the men.
“Boston Jane.” Sootie waved her hand. “Look what we found.”
I knelt down to inspect her treasure. It was a strange whitish lump.
“Do you know what it is?” Katy asked.
“It’s beeswax,” Jehu said.
I whirled around to see Jehu standing over us, blocking the sun, a grin on his tanned face.
“Beeswax?”
He squinted slightly, inspecting the object. “I’ve seen it on ships from the Orient before.”
“Papa says the Orient is very far away,” Katy said with authority. “He’s sailed there.”
Jehu knelt down and smiled at the little girl. “I’ve sailed to the Orient, too, and it is very far away.” There was a soft note of longing in his voice.
“But how did it get here?” Sootie asked curiously.
“Could be a ship went down, somewhere out at sea. It probably floated out in the ocean for a long time. And then I reckon it heard about you lovely ladies, so it decided that this was a good place to come ashore,” he teased them.
Katy and Sootie giggled.
“What do we do with it?” Katy asked.
“Maybe we can trade it with Mr. Staroselsky,” Sootie said. “And get more fabric for dresses.”
“Why don’t we give it to Willard?” Katy suggested.
Sootie gave an indelicate snort. “Willard? Why would we give it to Willard?”
Jehu chuckled at this.
“Speaking of lovely ladies,” Jehu said, straightening, “I’ve been looking for a certain redheaded one. I have something to show you.”
He swung my hand in his and whistled as we walked down the beach in companionable silence. This, I thought, was true love. Someone who made you happy without saying a word.
We had reached the edge of his claim, and I saw that there were several stakes in the ground, as if marking off an area.
“This is where we’re going to build the mill,” Jehu said. “We can float logs down the bay, mill them here, and then load them on barges.”
I surveyed the proposed site. “It’s a very agreeable location.”
He placed his hands on my shoulders and looked deep into my eyes. “Jane, I have some exciting news.” He seemed about ready to burst.
“Go on,” I encouraged him.
“I’ve been talking to Sally.”
My heart skipped a beat.
“It’s the answer to all our prayers.”
“Sally Biddle is the answer to our prayers?” I asked hesitantly.
“Not Sally. Her father. Mr. Biddle.”
“Jehu, I don’t understand at all,” I said, feeling a twinge of unease. What could Jehu want with Mr. Biddle?
“Sally said that her father’s looking for good investments.” He pointed at the land. “She thinks he might want to invest in the mill!”
“I see,” I said, and I did. Mr. Biddle now was the wealthiest man on the bay. In truth, he was the only man on the bay who had capital to invest.
“Sally said she’d mention my idea to him,” he continued. “And that she’d even arrange for me to meet with him!”
I’ll just bet she did, I thought.
Jehu seemed genuinely puzzled by my lack of enthusiasm and gave me a little shake. “Don’t you see, Jane? He might partner up with us. It’s what we’ve been waiting for!”
Deep in the pit of my soul I knew that Mr. Biddle would never become partners with Jehu. Not Mr. Biddle with the fine house on Arch Street. Men of Mr. Biddle’s class would never consider sailors as business partners.
“What do you think?” he asked eagerly.
I stared at the hope shining in his eyes.
“How wonderful, Jehu,” I said with forced gaiety. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Everything’s gonna wor
k out, Jane,” he said fervently. “We’ll be rich!”
He picked me up and whirled me around, kissing me soundly.
I couldn’t help but remember Millie telling me that her husband had said the very same thing before he left for California.
The kitchen was abuzz with preparations for supper when I returned to the hotel. Spaark was shucking oysters. When I walked in, her whole face lit up. She was wearing the same enthusiastic expression as Jehu had been.
“Boston Jane! Isn’t it exciting?”
I just looked at her.
She pointed a finger up, indicating the guest rooms upstairs. “Keer-ukso, he told me about Mr. Biddle giving money.”
“But Mr. Biddle might not give Jehu and Keer-ukso the money,” I said. “They haven’t even talked to him.”
“He will give them the money,” Spaark said.
I tried to smile but couldn’t. This day that had begun so agreeably was getting worse by the moment. Finally I said, “I think I’ll go and check on supplies.”
Sitting at my little desk writing out a list did nothing to restore my sense of well-being. Was Sally orchestrating all this to get back at me? Did she plan to raise Jehu’s hopes and then dash them cruelly? It seemed like something Sally would do.
A shadow fell over the desk and I glanced up. William stood there, looking every bit the refined gentleman.
“A moment of your time, Jane?” William said, wearing a thin smile.
“Trying to impress Mr. Biddle?” I asked, staring at his new suit.
Back in Philadelphia, William had always craved the finer things. But more than that, he had craved belonging to a better social class.
“I hardly need to try, Jane. I am not some lowly apprentice out here. Mr. Biddle recognizes me for the man of influence I am,” he said with just a touch of impatience. He motioned to the parlor. “Shall we?”
I bit my lip and followed him to the parlor, where the late-afternoon light spilled in through the windows. He took a comfortable seat on the settee, perfectly at ease in my presence.
“Have you heard that I am running for justice of the peace?” he asked, his voice full of the old arrogance.
“So is Red Charley,” I said dryly.
His lips twitched slightly, but then his face settled into the controlled mask I knew so well. How had I ever thought that this man sitting across from me deserved my affection?
“What do you want, William?” I asked.
“As you know, I am surveying land on behalf of … interested parties.”
“What has that to do with me?” I said.
He shook his head as if I were a recalcitrant child. “Jane, Jane. You have acquired a rather sharp tongue. Something I don’t approve of in the least.”
“Your approval has not been my concern for some time,” I said.
William pulled a slip of paper out of his jacket.
“This shall be of some concern to you, though, I should imagine.”
Something in me went still at the sight of that paper. It looked so familiar.
“It is so interesting what one runs across when working for the governor,” he said nonchalantly. “This came into my possession quite recently.”
My eyes widened. It was my claim!
“GRANT FOR ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY ACRES OF LAND TO J. PECK. DECEMBER 22, 1854.”
He clucked his tongue sympathetically. “And I must say, I find it very curious indeed that an unmarried lady, barely older than a child, has a claim for some of the most timber-rich land on the bay, when government land grants are meant only for white men over the age of twenty-one,” he said. “A rather fortuitous discovery, wouldn’t you agree?”
My mind raced. Even now I remembered what Jehu had said after he’d filed the claim on my behalf, writing “J. Peck” because—
They’ll never know. You could be a Jonathan or a Jack or a Jebediah—
“So under the law, one could legitimately assume that there are one hundred and twenty acres of unclaimed land around here, don’t you think?” He leaned back, all confidence.
I stared at him in shocked silence. He had trickcd me into coming out here, abandoned me, married another woman, and now he was threatening to take my land? I hadn’t thought it was possible for him to sink any lower, but apparently it was!
Finally William said mockingly, “Why, Jane. I do believe this is the first time in all our acquaintance that you have nothing to say! How perfectly remarkable.”
The door to the hotel opened, and I heard footsteps. Mr. Biddle was standing in the doorway.
“Shall we go see that piece of land you mentioned, William?” he asked. “The one you said was situated on a high bluff with good access to the bay?”
A high bluff with good access to the bay? That sounded suspiciously like my claim!
I looked at William, but he merely raised a mysterious eyebrow.
Mr. Biddle caught sight of me and said, “Good afternoon, Miss Peck.”
“Mr. Biddle,” I said.
William stood abruptly. “Miss Peck and I were just discussing a matter of mutual interest. I believe we have finished our conversation, haven’t we, Miss Peck?” There was a challenging note in his voice.
I said nothing.
“Very good then,” Mr. Biddle said with a touch of impatience. “Shall we be off?”
William shook his head at me in disappointment and said, “We shall finish this discussion later, Miss Peck.”
As I watched the two of them stride down the hotel steps, I felt the firm ground being swept from beneath my feet, my whole safe world cast away. I was like one of those lost ships, tossed against jagged rocks, being sent to my doom.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
or,
Biddle’s Gold
It soon became apparent that Jehu was not the only one with designs on Mr. Biddle’s money.
All of a sudden every prospecting man on the bay began hanging about the hotel in hopes of talking Mr. Biddle into funding some wild scheme. Red Charley wanted Mr. Biddle to go in on opening a new tavern with him, Mr. Swan thought there were possibilities in salmon, and even Mrs. Frink was full of hopeful ideas.
“Mr. Frink and I have been speaking to Mr. Biddle about becoming a partner in the hotel,” Mrs. Frink said, her voice laced with excitement. “With more funds, we could add a new wing and take in more guests.”
Only Millie seemed to share my misgivings.
“It’s like the gold rush,” she said, shaking her head. “Men can’t see what’s right in front of them. They’re too busy counting gold they haven’t even dug up yet.”
As for me, my thoughts were consumed with William’s threats. When I tried to share my fears with Jehu, he dismissed them.
“Baldt’s full of bluster,” he said. “He just likes stirring you up. Ignore him.”
But I knew that William wasn’t full of bluster. He was full of greed.
I was waylaid by Father Joseph one afternoon as I walked toward M’Carty’s homestead. I was finally getting around to returning the rifle Hairy Bill had brought back.
“Mademoiselle,” he called as I strolled along Front Street.
“Father Joseph,” I said, relief flooding me. Perhaps he could give me some good advice on how to deal with William. “I’m so happy to see you!”
“And I you,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Where are you going?”
“To visit Cocumb and M’Carty,” I explained.
“I’ll go with you as far as the stream.”
As we walked, a tired-looking oysterman passed us, his wagon piled perilously high with oysters. The wheel of the wagon hit a thick groove in the road and looked as if it was going to tip over, but then the man yelled at the horse and skillfully maneuvered it back to safety.
“Father, I need your advice about something,” I said.
“But of course, and I’ve been meaning to ask your advice as well,” he said with a tilt of his bald head.
“My advice?”
He
met my eyes. “You are friends with Mademoiselle Biddle?”
“We are acquainted with each other,” I said in a hesitant voice.
“Wonderful,” he said. “I was hoping that you might arrange an introduction to her father.”
“You want to talk to Mr. Biddle?”
“The chapel is in very poor repair,” he explained. “And I am hoping that he might contribute some funds to build a new church.”
My heart sank.
I promised Father Joseph I would try to arrange a meeting with Sally’s father and bade him farewell, then continued through the woods to where M’Carty and Cocumb lived. It was a considerable walk from town, on the far edge of the bay.
Cocumb was sitting on the front porch of her cabin weaving a basket when I arrived at her homestead. “Hello, Boston Jane,” she said with a smile.
Katy came running around from behind the house, carrying a handful of grass reeds. “Hello, Boston Jane,” she said.
Cocumb smoothed her daughter’s thick black hair, a mirror image of her own. “Katy and I are making a basket, aren’t we, nika tenas klootchman?”
Nika tenas klootchman. My sweet little girl.
“It’s very lovely,” I said, surveying the basket. It had a figure of a crane woven into it.
“Come in. We have another visitor,” Cocumb replied.
I saw the silhouette of a man sitting by the fire, and by the scraggly shape of his whiskers, I knew him immediately.
“Mr. Russell,” I said, pleased.
“Gal,” Mr. Russell said, spitting a huge wad of tobacco at my feet.
Mr. Russell was not a man given to good manners, I’m afraid, but he was M’Carty’s oldest friend, and I imagined that Cocumb was rather used to him by now.
M’Carty was sitting right next to Mr. Russell in a beautifully carved rocking chair, smoking a pipe.
“Hello there, Miss Peck! What brings you way out here?”
“Hairy Bill was passing through and brought this back,” I said, handing him the rifle.
“Huh. How about that.” He restored the rifle to its place of honor on a hook over the fireplace.
“Please, sit down,” Cocumb said.
I took a seat on one of the benches, and admired the cheery cabin. At one end was the fireplace, and near it a long, gleaming wood table. In another corner was the sleeping area, sectioned off with a length of canvas.
The Claim Page 9
